I was going to write up a review of Deliver Us From Evil, the latest exorcism horror movie starring Eric Bana, Edgar Ramirez, and Olivia Munn. It had its share of jumps and creepy imagery, and the crowded theater seemed to enjoy themselves. Usually, I can get into an exorcism movie, so it doesn't really matter what I think of Deliver's performances, story, or directing. These are the kind of movies I like to go see on a Saturday night with the husband, because we both love a new scary movie.
Something genuinely took me by surprise, though. I had no idea that Joel McHale (yes, that Joel McHale) was in this movie. When he made his first appearance, I quite seriously exclaimed his name much to the chagrin of my husband and my fellow Deliver Us From Evil patrons. Instead of writing up a review, I decided to write a small, yet hopefully effective and appreciated, note to one Mr. McHale.
Dear Joel McHale,
I had no idea that you wanted to play a cop in a horror movie. I went to see Deliver Us From Evil not knowing much about it other than it looked moody and Eric Bana used a New York accent. Imagine my surprise when I saw you appear on screen beside Bana, sporting a backwards Red Sox baseball cap. The delight I experienced to see you all gruff and tattooed is only rivaled when you plop yourself in front of me every week for The Soup in a perfectly tailored and colorful suit.
Once I got over my initial shock that you were in a horror flick, I was wondering what exciting things you'd be doing in this movie. Would you be kicking the crap out of a possessed demon with not only your incredible comic timing, but your fists? Would you surprisingly hurl pea soup on a possessed person as an amusing change of pace? Or would you just open a new sector of sexiness for yourself? Let's go over that shall we?
Admittedly, I don't watch Community (we can thank my obnoxious former roommate for that, but that's another story--I'm willing to binge the series just for you), and, as I previously stated, I know you primarily from The Soup. You've always fallen into a dapper, well-dressed sexiness for me. You can pull off solid suits and checkered ones with aplomb and confidence. The way your roll your eyes at insipid reality "stars" makes me laugh weekly, sir. You're kind of like a sexy skyscraper. Tall, lean, and wind resistant. You're the Empire State Building in E!'s skyline of talking heads. In Deliver, however, you achieve a different kind of sexiness. A sexiness, to be perfectly honest, I had no idea that you could pull off.
As Butler, you are tattooed to the Gods. You're like the Sons or Anarchy wet dream that I never had. You have the seven deadly sins inked on the back of your neck, and, when I noticed this, I wanted to commit every one of those sins simultaneously. The backwards Red Sox baseball cap resurfaced every fantasy I had about a high school jock that I repressed. You wore Alice in Chains t-shirts, but in a non-threatening manner. You see, I feel like Butler and I could go to an Alice in Chains concert and he would protect me from riffraff that would undoubtedly give me a hard time at such an event. If I went to use a Port-a-Potty at this imaginary concert, he would stand by the plastic door while I took the most frightened whizz of my life.
At the end of Deliver, you get stabbed to death by that creepy possessed dude. I couldn't help but wonder. What the living fuck was I going to pay attention to now in this movie?! Sure, Eric Bana has presidential good looks and Australian heritage. He could introduce me to Russell Crowe and Nicole Kidman and tell me the truth about kangaroos. But I didn't want to spend the rest of this movie drooling over him! Then Edgar Ramirez became a candidate. Yes, he's sexy as all hell. His five-o-clock shadow goes until six thirty, and he messily pushes his somehow perpetually damp hair back at every five seconds he's on screen. When he signed his contract, he knew he was going to brood, chain-smoke, and kiss every single rosary on that effing set. I won't lie. He did it well.
I wanted more Butler. I wanted more Joel McHale. I'm saddened by the Butler's death, but I was glad you did this movie. You proved that you're more than a funny man in a well-tailored suit, and casting directors need to take your acting more seriously. Perhaps you could next work on a period drama or make an appearance in a Wes Anderson picture? As long as they one thing is disclosed in your contract: must redefine sexiness in a fresh, new way.
The gent who is probably now the subject of a restraining order.