The Ringer

From left: Geoffrey Arend, Leonard Earl Howze (red shirt), Johnny Knoxville,
Edward Barbanell, Bill Chott, Jed Rees (orange shirt) and John Taylor in THE RINGER.
Photo Credit: Deana Newcomb

So I prepared myself for this movie, having an idea of what to expect from the Farrelly brothers—who have raised political-incorrectness to an art form (albeit in a rather perverse manner). I’m expecting there to be rampant assaults on mental disability, and instead I feel like I’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone. At the promo screening, I’m told, are Special Olympics board members, athletes and even the President of the Minnesota organization. Could I be in some alternate universe, or, have the Farrelly brothers received so much harsh criticism for their past portrayals of the mentally disabled (e.g. “There’s Something About Mary”) that this is their penance? No.

In actuality, for what it is, “The Ringer” is an entertaining film that creatively combats many stereotypes our culture has about the mentally disabled. It’s not a serious drama forcing a message of acceptance down our throats in a self-important manner. I suspect Johnny Knoxville would never have been cast in such a project, but that’s just me.

Steve Barker (Johnny Knoxville) works in a cubicle hell of some sort, listening to motivational tapes (voiced by someone who sounds suspiciously like former pro-wrestler and Minnesota Governor Jesse Ventura). Steve works up simultaneous ambivalence and courage to ask his manager for a role with more responsibility—in precisely what capacity, he’s unsure. He’s granted his wish. His first assignment is to fire the not-so-bright janitor, Stavi. It’s not any mental disability, or his limited grasp of English as a recent immigrant, “In my country, Stavi not so bright, either.” Reluctantly, Steve promises to hire Stavi to mow his lawn. Stavi, who likes to fix things with his bare hands, manages to forget a key rule in lawnmower maintenance: Turn it off, first.

Suffice it to say, this is where a relatively standard, but somewhat reliable, comedic plot emerges. Steve, feeling horrible that Stavi’s only coverage is, as my brother-in-law used to say, the Be-Damned-Careful Insurance plan, calls his allegedly wealthy uncle, Gary (Brian Cox), to ask for help covering Stavi’s $28,000 finger-reattachment surgery. Gary has his own problems—namely gambling. He owes some very angry bookies $40,000. While watching TV, Gary sees a commercial for the Special Olympics and is struck with a mediocre, if absurd, idea. Gary suggests Steve compete in the Special Olympics as, he believes, Steve’s sure to win—provided he can pull off the appearance of qualification.

So, Steve and Gary brush up on their idea of research, watching movies like “Rain Man” and “Forrest Gump” to sharpen their idea of what being mentally challenged means. He enters the Special Olympics, as Jeffie Dahmor, and meets (without delay) the female love inter… I mean staff counselor, Lynn Sheridan (Katherine Heigl). His new roommate, Billy (Edward Barbanell), is a very particular and cantankerous sort—refusing to drop the subject when Steve/Jeffie drops one of his CD’s.

The others also have their reservations about him. Something doesn’t strike them as quite right about Jeffie. Occasionally, he talks differently. Most people would anticipate, and a lesser comedy would exploit, the simpler idea of hitching the entire plot on the group’s awareness and eventual discovery of Steve’s subterfuge. However, the film surprised me and my co-writer with a more interesting, and a more inherently humorous, path.

Enter star athlete and Special Olympics poster-boy Jimmy. Like many star athletes, he has an entourage, endorsements, and bling. The other athletes hate him, not merely because he’s talented, but because he’s also exceedingly arrogant. Now I think you see it unfolding, as I did. While they were prepared to expose Steve as the fraud that he is, isn’t it funny how common enemies are always united when faced with a larger enemy common to both?

It’s the gang’s idea to use Steve to get revenge on Jimmy. This is not because they’re mentally disabled and Steve isn’t, mind you. It’s because, relatively, as a Special Olympian, Jimmy’s abilities exceed theirs. Perhaps Steve has a chance at beating Jimmy, they think, but that depends. Jimmy’s an excellent athlete as it is. Steve needs a lot of work before he can keep up with Jimmy, much less beat him.

There’s not much else to the film, but there doesn’t need to be. It’s a formulaic comedy with a delightful cast that makes it work within its own intentions. Let’s talk about those intentions for a second… Steve’s growth in understanding and appreciating the other athletes is supported by various observations throughout the film that they like, hate, envy, dream, love, and share every other kind of experience that anyone else would. One has dreams of being an actor, another looks with an adoring eye on a woman he’s too bashful to approach.

It should be noted that executives from the National Down Syndrome Society and the Special Olympics have each signed letters of support for this movie. The inherent humor of the movie comes not from laughing at differences, but common personalities and experiences to which we all can relate, and it’s apparent that both organizations support the fostering of that kind of acceptance, rather than a false reverence (read: politically-correct) for people whose goal is not so much to be “special,” I think, as it is to just be.

The Ringer • Dolby® Digital surround sound in select theatres • Aspect Ratio: 2.35:1 • Running Time: 94 minutes • MPAA Rating: PG-13 for crude and sexual humor, language and some drug references. • Distributed by Fox Searchlight Pictures