From their collected experiences around Hollywood, both screenwriter Andrew Kevin Walker and animation director Chris Prynoski are familiar with the trappings of fame, as well as the desperation of those without it to attain it. Wearing a pair of outfits that Walker noted, “could combine for a really great Hunter S. Thompson costume,” the Nerdland creative team was at ease discussing the first feature film to emerge from animation house Titmouse, Inc. where Prynoski also helms Metalocalypse. Nerdland (read our review) takes a satirical look at a pair of ne’er do well Los Angeles roommates—aspiring actor John (Paul Rudd) and wanna’ be screenwriter Elliot (Patton Oswalt)—hung up on fantasies of making it big in the movies.

In their sit-down interview with Way Too Indie, Andrew Kevin Walker and Chris Prynoski discuss Nerdland‘s nihilistic vision of modern society, their shared appreciation for improv in moderation, and how the dream of writing the Great American novel has shifted.

What was the launching point for this story?

Andrew Kevin Walker: It was an original script I wrote and I tried in different ways to get it made. It was written to be live action – that was kind of the way I imagined it. It’s kind of loosely based on mine, and my best friend John’s life, trying to break into showbiz.

I tried to get it made as an animated TV show; I took the script and broke it down into smaller episodes then left it open-ended. Then when that didn’t happen because no one was interested, I broke it down into little five minute, bite-sized pieces that probably would have added up to one feature but they were made to be little internet shorts and that didn’t work out.

So I just regrouped again. I went back to the feature and I tightened it up. I had been watching and loving Metalocalypse and all the stuff that Titmouse, Inc. does. I’m wondering, “who are these geniuses? These mysterious weirdos who do all this amazing animation.” I managed through agents to get a meeting where I went with my script, they took a look at it, and it was a beautiful thing from there on.

Chris Prynoski: A lot of times you get these scripts and there’s a lot of work that has to be done, but this was very clear. I’ve been those people, I know those people, our studio exists in that neighborhood. It was very clear, I could see how this would worked and I was super stoked.

So the script you brought in to Titmouse was the feature version?

AKW: It was the feature version and that’s what we ended up doing. Fully independent, self-financed, sweat equity feature.

That’s despite Titmouse having not done a feature to that point?

CP: Yeah, we work on features. We do pre-production on features but our own movie that we have control over. We’ve done some direct-to-TV features but this was our first real feature that we had control over. I’m stoked, I’m really proud of it.

There’s a real nihilistic presentation to the world of these characters – is that your general perspective on society?

AKW: I think it’s exclusively about the entertainment industry and the kind of sweaty-palmed desperation you have when you’re outside looking in, trying to get in. I do think it’s interesting that in modern day society, fame can be this big (Andrew spreads his hands apart) like it always was, or fame can be this big (Andrew holds two fingers an inch away from one another). Small fame can become big fame and go back to small fame again then you really want another taste of that.

I don’t think there’s as many people looking to write the great American novel like there used to be, I think everyone’s either trying to write the great American screenplay or shoot the great American YouTube video. Looking in at Hollywood at this point is just kind of looking out at the world, in a way.

There’s a de-evolution in our popular entertainment that you can see through these characters aspirations – is that something concerning for either of you?

CP: I don’t know if it’s concerning as much as it is the way it is. It’s not like we’re trying to be like, “Hey, we’re making this important movie that’s going to change the way things work. If people just like watch this they’re going to have this revelation.” It’s more like, “Hey, this sucks, right?”

AKW: Yeah, isn’t this funny?

CP: This is the way we live. It’s funny, it’s weird. Society is obsessed with fame for fame’s sake.

AWK: Hopefully there’s a certain amount of recognition – especially for our peers. It does go beyond that now since everybody can be famous in their own way, in their smaller or larger social circle.

CP: Yeah you’ve got a phone. You can make your own YouTube video. Everybody’s got their own movie studio.

Andrew, a lot of your previous writing had been comedic but not quite so overtly comedic. You mentioned you had been working on this script for quite a while, was this your desire to do an out-and-out comedy?

AKW: I really do love comedy, I watch a lot of comedy. Humor comes into everything that you’re writing – no matter how serious or self-serious it is. I’ve written darker stuff that’s kind of balanced with comedy and this is almost a comedy that’s balanced with darkness.

Chris, when it comes to the character design, many of the characters have traditionally attractive features that get exaggerated in discomforting ways. What kind of calculation did you make to decide how far out the look of the world would be?

CP: Oh it was definitely a calculation because these days it’s kind of – in a weird way – easier to make stuff look beautiful and shiny and clean. With computers that’s the default. We made a conscious effort to make this very crunchy and rough around the edges. [Make it] feel like hand-drawn drawings. Not use a lot of the bag of tricks we use on other things like there’s no depth of field in this, there’s hardly any lighting on the characters – really just used in special circumstances – there’s not a lot of the, like, fancy stuff we use on other productions.

We really wanted to make this feel almost like films that were shot under an oxberry. You know, the production designer Antonio Canoobio, we really wanted to challenge ourselves by not going slick with it. It sounds kind of counter-intuitive.

That has its own appeal, too. It’s a distinctive look. People talk a lot about “the Adult Swin aesthetic” but it’s got its own distinctive style so it’s not so easy to just lump them all together.

CP: I think it’s more of a sensibility or a tone than an aesthetic with the Adult Swim stuff. I did the first character lineup but beyond that I pretty much handed the whole movie character-wise to Joe Bennett, who did most of the character designs. Obviously I had input on it but you see a lot of his hand there. He’s got a great mind for comedic detail. Little things you’ll notice on the characters that are really, really smart.

At what point did Paul Rudd and Patton Oswalt become involved and what did they help bring to Nerdland?

CP: Patton was the first actor of any of the actors to get involved. He had done voices for other cartoons and is a fan of Andy’s. He said yes in the room to it, which was great, and kind of had a cascade effect.

As far as stuff that those guys added… it’s interesting. The way I record, is you record the exact page, you do a loose pass and then you do an improv pass. These guys did so much incredible improve but what ended up in the film was really, largely, what the script was. There’s heightened parts where we used the imrpov but it’s all woven in to what’s there on the page.

AKW: Patton and Paul did amazing improv. Paul Scheer really stuck out to me. He was insanely amazing. Kate Micucci and Riki Lindhome in a way had such thankless parts and they made a lot of very little. But every actor did improv in great ways.

I think Chris was very judicious in choosing a balance between improv keeping the flow moving forward. I think we’ve all seen improv where you see a piece of a film get caught in an improv bubble for a minute. You’re kind of there on the day with them, appreciating that moment, and it might be a little longer than maybe [necessary] and then things get started again. So I think [Chris] was kind of great in judging stuff and choosing it very thoughtfully.

CP: Yeah it’s so easy to get caught up when you’re in the booth recording with these guys making you laugh. It’s like, “That’s great! That’s genius!” Having done Metalocalypse it happens all the time. There’s so much more than we can use in any episode. You really, really have to work hard on focusing. Not falling in love with something that is not going to work or ultimately not work as well.

AKW: It’s almost like unless you were there on the day it’s not the same. It stops the movie for a second. But that’s what blooper reels and Blu-Ray extras are for.

At some point you have to kill your darlings.

AKW: Absolutely. Or the darling has to be the thing from the script that gets taken out, and the improv goes in its place.

CP: I got to say, too, the combination of Paul and Patton – they had such good chemistry together. You really felt that these guys knew each other very well, they lived together, they were roommates. These guy were recording on opposite coasts. They could hear each other and see each other on a screen but Paul was in New York and Patton was in LA.

They made these characters likable while they were riding a dangerous line where people could have just checked out and been like, “these guys are assholes and I’m not with them anymore.”

AKW: The most embarrassing thing for me… Every actor was bringing so much more to everything that was on the page. I would be the one laughing the hardest at my own stuff I had written. To hear Patton Oswalt’s voice saying these lines after all this time living with it on the page, and then Paul Rudd and on and on from top to bottom… there’s not a lot in here by an actor or actress you don’t know.

For Rudd and Oswalt particularly they’re not even altering their voices much, it’s a lot through their natural congeniality.

AKW: And also I think it’s selling the friendship between them. It lets you keep caring about them no matter what semi-despicable things they discuss doing and attempt to do.

Is there a future for the characters of Nerdland?

AKW: That will be determined out there rather than in this room but they certainly live in my heart.

CP: I’d love to work with Andy again on something, who knows.

AKW: We’re already trying to figure out what to be able to do next together. It was just the best experience ever.

Gangly-armed or thick-necked with off-colored skin tones or noses—the harshly drawn inhabitants of Nerdland don’t have the benefit of beauty to mask their ugly insides. They’re off-putting even when appealing. Like many of the character designs on Adult Swim cartoon shows, the characters’ distinctive features are sharpened and exaggerated in ways that makes their appearances unsettling. It should be no surprise that Nerdland comes from Chris Prynoski (Metalocalypse, Motorcity), veteran of the late night Cartoon Network universe, where absurdist and divisive humor has thrived for the past couple decades.

In the heart of the entertainment industry, nearly 30-year-old roommates John (voiced by Paul Rudd) and Elliot (Patton Oswalt) feel their shot at world fame is dwindling. At first, both seem like familiar characters repurposed for Nerdland’s grimy, stoner sketchbook aesthetic. The pair live together in a rundown Hollywood apartment with old beer bottles and pizza boxes strewn across the floor. Elliot, a would-be screenwriter, who spends more time on the couch playing video games than writing (a depressing familiar conceit) ends up penning a script about a vengeful Rip Van Winkle waking from his slumber to shotgun blast open the skulls of strip club patrons. His roommate John—an aspiring actor—is the gentler, naïf, Lenny Small-type. When John tries to pass off Elliot’s script to a well-known movie star, John fumbles the pages and rips his pants in an effort to pick them up, exposing his puckered anus to the crowd.

The hand-drawn feature animation is the first feature from animation house Titmouse, Inc., a smooth transition to the big screen that borrows animated TV comedies’ fast-paced style. Quick cutaways pepper the dialog-heavy moments with visual gags. They reveal the protagonists’ dreams of red carpets lined with adoring fans or boob-filled, heavenly utopias, many of which feel ripped from an angsty teenage boy’s fantasies. But like a random episode of Family Guy, these jokes range in quality from shocking and fun to predictably cynical. Its misanthropic charms often redeem Nerdland, but John and Elliot’s aversion to productivity can become grating to watch for the duration (even if that length is only 83 minutes).

John and Elliot’s pursuit of fame at any twisted cost makes the pair progressively harder to like. Nerdland‘s mocking vision of LA is short on any redeeming personalities. Filled with silly caricatures of the fame-worshipping underclass, it’s clear that the director Prynoski as well as the screenwriter Andrew Kevin Walker hate just about every person in this world. And yes, that’s the same Andrew Kevin Walker who wrote Se7en and contributed an uncredited rewrite to Fight Club—a film with similar nihilistic social satire. With a considerably scattershot plot, one which has a somewhat episode design, Nerdland lacks some of the narrative momentum that comes from more cohesive stories.

While a majority of scenes revolve around the funny duo at the cartoon’s center, recognizable voices make cameos throughout. Comedians such as Molly Shannon, Paul Scheer, as well as Garfunkel & Oats’ Kate Micucci & Riki Lindhome make extended appearances. Among the funniest roles, Hannibal Burress’ discomforting slant on the standard, slovenly Comic Book Guy pairs well with his wry delivery. Like many of the notable comedians that lend their voice to Nerdland, Oswalt and Rudd don’t alter their voice for their roles—they’re each well-suited to the characters and make for an amusing, albeit unlikely pairing.

Victims of a media-driven culture, John and Elliot ultimately determine that their shortest path to recognition is through notoriety—though as a hapless pair of unskilled, intermittently unemployed slackers the duo’s ability to accomplish anything is questionable. Some of their antics are hilarious but as the film progresses, many of the bits drag on too long. Prynoski and Walker find some strange insights on their race to the moral bottom with John and Elliot—a commentary that often acts more searing and urgent than it is—but like a developing TV comedy, Nerdland is often best in small patches.

Comedy has always been in close proximity to suffering. Whether it’s a tragic news headline serving as the butt of a joke or the hidden inner turmoil of the actual joke-teller, the two opposing sentiments seemingly go hand in hand. It calls to mind the Looney Tunes principle of laughter derived from extreme misfortune, or the notion of the “Sad Clown.” But anger has also played a role for some comedians bearing their demons and grievances onstage and many a man and woman have since been enshrined for their sharp-tongued antics (Such as Lenny Bruce, Joan Rivers, George Carlin and Bill Hicks among others). In Call Me Lucky, Director Bobcat Goldthwait asserts that one comic has gone missing from that list of greats and there’s much more to his story than that of a funnyman who never got his due.

The name of this unsung comic is Barry Crimmins. You’d be excused for not recognizing him as he’s has been out of the public eye for some time, but for comedy buffs who grew up in a certain time and place, he’s something of a legend. The mid-1980’s was when he came to prominence, setting up two clubs in Boston and fostering a tight-knit community of young, burgeoning talent. His personal brand of stand-up centered on anti-consumerist, anti-authoritarian political satire (something that didn’t always resonate with audiences lulled into a lack of social consciousness by the hyper-patriotism of the Reagan era). Described by one interviewee as a cross between Noam Chomsky and Bluto (from Popeye), he was a curmudgeonly firecracker on stage, drumming himself up into a surprisingly coherent rage over the numerous egregious acts perpetrated by his country.

While lauded for his incredible comedic chops, Crimmins was more than someone who merely entertained with harshly humorous truths. He drifted into genuine activism, delivering stirring, fact-studded tirades at anti-war rallies and lending his support to badly afflicted South American countries. In a time without Internet, he was remarkably knowledgeable about the injustices and intergovernmental dealings taking place around the world and took pride in making a stand against them. By the time the ’90s rolled around, Crimmins’ impact had been felt by an entire generation of comedians and left-wing demonstrators, but it was a haunting realization of long-suppressed childhood abuse that sent his life in a new direction and refreshed his sense of purpose.

The power of Call Me Lucky is in its evolution from a humdrum comedian profile to an emotionally involved journey of survival and positivity born from pain. Expectations are initially set low by an opening act that ticks all the boxes necessary to qualify as an average bio doc. The film takes us through the bullet points of Crimmins’ early life in typical “who/what/when/where” fashion, filled out past the point of reason with several anecdotes from friends and famous admirers (Like Marc Maron, Tom Kenny, Patton Oswalt and Margaret Cho, to name a few). The humorous yarns are somewhat cursory, but as told by professional storytellers, they prove to be one of the film’s most entertaining aspects. Crimmins himself doesn’t appear that often through this first portion of the picture, and aside from a series of fluid firsthand accounts describing his personality, the key details of his early life are skimmed over rather quickly.

It isn’t until almost halfway in that the film finds its footing. Goldthwait simultaneously narrows his focus and broadens the story’s scope as he hones in on the boisterous comic’s sexual assault as a child, poignantly addressing the effect it had on his perception of the world and the role it played in his compulsion to expose its ugliness. Topics that were vaguely mentioned in passing earlier suddenly spring to life. The problems and struggles of separating oneself from victimization are discussed. Barry’s attraction to comedy is a defense mechanism and the film gets to the heart of why humanitarian issues resonate so strongly with him, exploring the very roots of his notoriously impassioned fits of anger (To paraphrase what he says at one point: “There are entire countries that feel abused, like I do”). It’s deep, dark stuff and Goldthwait thankfully surrenders most of the commentary to Crimmins, who makes for a highly thoughtful, illuminating speaker.

Despite the sudden shift in subject matter, Call Me Lucky does not make itself about wallowing in the doom and gloom of past trauma. Instead, it takes an inspirational route, chronicling Crimmins’ renewed sense of responsibility and his resulting crusade against Internet child pornography in the ’90s (a mission that would ultimately carry him to Washington D.C., where he confronted a criminally enabling AOL leadership). Coupled with the testimonies of friends who benefited from Crimmins’ support through their own intensely personal crises, the film’s final act tastefully caps off a loving portrait of a genuinely good man with a soaring celebration of his enduring, unbroken spirit.

While the film benefits from its powerful structuring, it also undoubtedly benefits from the inherently compelling nature of the story it tells. In other words, Goldthwait doesn’t always make the best directorial decisions. His indulgence in talking heads is the film’s most strikingly negative aspect. Those lingering anecdotes from the first act really bog down the pacing, and we get the feeling that Goldthwait couldn’t resist including some of his pals’ wild tales (regardless of their relevancy), but the worst examples of this nepotism come toward the end of the film when Goldthwait leans heavily upon the praises of those who personally know Crimmins and the film devolves into a string of sentiments essentially adding up to “Gosh, isn’t Barry just the greatest?” There’s no doubt of the truth of their words, but it feels forced when so much of the man’s actions and experiences speak for themselves.

Such indulgences come from the heart, though, and no matter how much they hinder the film’s conciseness, one cannot deny the empathy that Goldthwait generates. It may not always be the most eloquent piece of work, but Call Me Lucky is as moving and life affirming a documentary as you will find.

Unless you are a huge stand-up comedy aficionado you have likely never heard of a comedian named Eddie Pepitone. I certainly had not until this documentary. But he is beloved by many famous comedians that you have heard of before, which is why Pepitone is considered by many to be a comedian’s comedian. The Bitter Buddha rhetorically asks several times over why this man has never been successful—an answer even the documentary never expects (nor tries) to get.

The Bitter Buddha begins with a much needed background on Eddie Pepitone, someone in the documentary even half-jokingly states that only one out every thousand people has even heard of him before. Turns out that this 52-year-old man has been doing comedy for over 30 years, yet has little more than respect from other comedians to show for it. Among some of his supporters who swear by him are; Patton Oswalt, Zach Galifianakis, Sarah Silverman, B.J. Novak, Todd Barry, and Andy Kindler, all of whom make appearances in this documentary.

When he is on stage you can practically see his blood pressure rising. He is full of energy and shouts most of his punch lines. Which is where the “bitter” part of his title, The Bitter Buddha, comes from. The Buddha part comes from an almost zen-like persona he has off the stage. Following Pepitone’s daily routine reveals a much softer and calmer side of him, yet one that is not completely void of quirks. Pepitone lives in an incredibly modest apartment (that is putting it nicely) and hand-feeds squirrels in the park.

There is a sense that Pepitone is more than frustrated that he has not achieved a career breakthrough yet when he begrudges young commercially successful comedians and enviously mocks their famous lifestyles. But like most comedians he uses his struggles in life as fuel in his routine. He is heard openly bashing Twitter despite having over 11,000 tweets, he makes fun of comedy TV shows even though he guest stars on several of them, and he makes fun of his father while seeking approval from him. Even though he seems to be self-aware of his hypocrisy (after all he goes by the name Bitter Buddha), it does not make it any less bewildering.

Eddie Pepitone is for comedians what Daniel Johnston is for musicians; well-respected among their peers as one of a kind, but the average person has no idea of their existence. They are artists in the true sense of the word; they do not have a ton of commercial success but they are passionate about their craft. In many ways The Bitter Buddha is similar to the documentary on Johnston (The Devil and Daniel Johnston), especially in that the people getting the most out of the documentaries are ones who have never heard of them before. Luckily, the odds are in their favor.

If the main objective of The Bitter Buddha is to spread the word about a little known comedian, then it succeeds as Eddie Pepitone makes for an undeniably fascinating subject. But there is a lot to be desired if speaking strictly from a documentary standpoint. The narrative just reiterates that fact this comedian should be more famous than he is and towards the end it relies too heavily on actual stand-up footage. Andy Kindler makes a great joke about how The Bitter Buddha cannot show the rise and fall of Pepitone’s career because he would first have had to rise. While he was referring to Pepitones lack of stardom, he coincidentally defines the downfall of the documentary in terms of its narrative.

The Bitter Buddha trailer: