According to all known laws of comedy, there is no way a Jerry Seinfeld project should be able to fail.
From Seinfeld, to The Bee Movie, to Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee, Jerry’s projects may reach different levels of success, but they’re all successful— if we base success on money, views, impact on pop culture, and most importantly, ability to make me laugh.
That’s why the failure of Unfrosted, Seinfeld’s recent straight-to-Netflix movie, is particularly heartbreaking.
It’s written by Seinfeld, with the same writing collaborators responsible for the Bee Movie. I could list three pages of qualities that make a good movie, but the truth is there’s literally only one rule:
Be entertaining.
Unfortunately, Unfrosted failed. There were several pointless scenes where I started thinking about how many minutes of my life this was eating up. When your mind drifts to mortality, you know you’re bored. There are movies like After and Madame Web that are bad, but fun to scream about with your friends from the couch. They’re, at least, like second-hand entertaining. Unfrosted wasn’t even bad enough to circle back to fun.
It was just boring.
It had no message, no moral, and didn’t even ask interesting questions. Worst of all, they forgot to write jokes.
Jerry was clearly trying to make a movie like Airplane, where the characters are paper-thin, straight out of sketch-comedy, and there’s no story because the plot is just a vehicle to get the jokes from the page to our ears. For all the flaws of Airplane, I still thought the puns were clever and I laughed out loud a lot.
But, girl. Unfrosted is like watching your favorite comedians fight for their lives with amazing hair, costumes, and sets— but a script that stinks like rotting scrambled eggs.
If I had to improve this movie with only one change, it would be simple:
Recast Jerry.
As an actor, Jerry is most famous for playing himself. The straight man, the laid-back comedian, the quiet “eh” to George’s “JERRY!!”
His character, Bob Cabana, is basically a cartoon. His over-dramatic lines could’ve been camp if they were performed by Martin Short, Will Ferrell, or Nathan Lane. Silliness isn’t Jerry’s strength, and the whole time you’re painfully aware that you’re watching Jerry Seinfeld Acting right now. You can practically see the highlighted script, and picture him practicing in his trailer, enunciating every excruciating syllable. Good thing he’s in every scene.
If I had time to really fix the script, I believe the premise could be salvaged. There’s an Airplane-like version without a message, but a sincerely sweet story is more my bag. So here’s what I’d do.
This is a movie about breakfast cereal.
What’s the first thing you think of when you imagine a Kellogs commercial?
“Part of a nutritious breakfast.”
That would be our theme.
We start with a Kellogg’s commercial. But it ends with “Kellogg’s— the only thing you need for a nutritious breakfast.”
Bob Cabana works in development at Kellogg’s, and sugary breakfast cereal is his life. He works weekends and overtime every week. He even clocks in to work at 6:00 AM sharp— even though that means he misses out on breakfast with his son, Bobby jr.
Bob is horrified when his competition at Kellogg’s (Amy Schumer and Max Greenfield) create Tart Pops, ultra healthy but bland breakfast squares with gooey quinoa-insides. They’re basically metallic. Bob has an opportunity to pitch a different product, and now it’s a race against the clock to have an idea by Saturday morning. Bob is determined to create a breakfast square of his own, and enlists the help of his ex-creative partner and wife (who can still be played by Melissa McCarthy).
I liked the fact that they parodied the space race, however— I’d cut the mascot subplot and instead, all their boxes are empty. Bobby Jr. is an artist and he draws all these mascots, but his dad who is always rushing off to work doesn’t even notice his cool designs. Bobby Jr. still loves his father and has learned to play by himself. He usually plays “Business” and on Friday night he uses his dad’s briefcase.
Saturday morning arrives. Bob presents his pitch— but oh, no. His blueprint designs for the Pop Tart have been colored on by his son! Bob is furious— but oh, yay. His boss loves the characters and decides to stick a beloved mascot on every box. He even hires Bobby Jr. but the eight year old struggles to adjust to office life. He perseveres because it means he gets to see his Dad.
When Bob is killed in a freak toaster accident, he has a dream sequence with real life versions of the cereal mascots a la a Christmas Carol. Bob sees his breakfasts past, present, and future and he realizes what’s important in life.
He is resurrected by Amy Schumer rubbing two Tart Pops together (she quits her job and goes on to be the inventor of the Defibrillators)
Bob and his son reconnect, and Bob learns that cereal is only part of a nutritious breakfast— you needs eggs, an apple, orange juice, and most importantly of all: your loved ones.
So yeah— that would be the movie! And I know this wasn’t Jerry’s vision, but I’d add some jokes too.
