Beavis and Butt-head Do America

With Mike Judge, Cloris Leachman, Robert Stack, Eric Bogosian, Richard Linklater, Earl Hofert, Bruce Willis, and Demi Moore
Written by Mike Judge & Joe Stillman
Directed by Mike Judge
(Paramount/MTV/Geffen)
by William Ham

(excerpted/plagiarized from The Medium is the Buttmunch, by Martial McLuhless)

…To properly ascertain the subterranean significance of this feature-length bellow from the depths of the American soul, one must break down its semantic components into quasi-Joycean compartments: Be Avis (that is to say, they number two [a reference to their numerological empirics and their fascination with all matters fecal] and thence try harder to elude the agony of their inarticulate, animated hearts, a pain that indeed Hertz) and/but Head (pointing up the indecisive, dualistic nature of thought) due America. And what is due America? Is this randy adolescent duad, the “in” voice of America, in actual fact the invoice of America, a bill for services rendered come 200 years past due? Have we paid in full? If not, will our liberty be shut off until restitution is made? Regardless, it is plain that these two young men have emerged from their cloistered domain to repossess life from the dead beat of our collective heart. Consider Beavis, the flaxen-haired innocent, drily aware of the dictatorial power sundry forces lord over him with his repeated cries of “It rules! It rules!” (Whither Cornholio?) And Butthead, the seeker, his metallic teeth indicative of a caged appetite: he looks to “score,” to emerge victorious in the Roman arena of society’s game, to bite off his rightful slice of the American pie, but beneath his laughter lies gravitas, the sad knowledge that he, like all around him, can only “suck.” They cannot function independently of one another; they are two sides of the same coin lost beneath the cushions upon which we couch our comfort. Their odyssey is a futile one, like the work of Homer’s simp son, bequeathed only a Sisyphean struggle, pushing a rock up a hill upon which there is no king. The onlooker might summon forth amplified laughter and mic their judgement upon them, but their struggle is our struggle. They, like us (the “average Joe”), are still man.

Also, I quite like it when they break stuff.