A David Wain picture is not for the weak. “Gail Daughtry and the Celebrity Sex Pass” is no different. In this schticky Los Angeles satire, Wain and co-writer Ken Marino ask a simple question: What if “The Wizard of Oz” were a Californian sex comedy about saving your marriage by banging a celebrity?
It’s nuttier than a Snickers bar, tapping into a lighthearted brand of humor that doesn’t exist in Hollywood right now. Nothing about “Gail Daughtry and the Celebrity Sex Pass” should work, and yet, it’s a breath of fresh air in a stale genre that needs goofballs like Wain and Marino to drag us down to their corny yet belly-laughing level.
Zoey Deutch stars as Gail Daughtry, a cheery suburban princess who can’t see beyond her adoring fiancé (played by Michael Cassidy). One day, they banter about their celebrity hall pass picks. Gail thinks it’s a silly erotic exercise, but learns the hard way that her soon-to-be husband has cashed in on his fantasy. Distraught, Gail joins her hair salon bestie Otto (Miles Gutierrez- Riley) on a trip to Los Angeles, where she decides to even the score by bagging her hall pass.
An eye for an eye, or in this case, a lay for a lay.
“Gail Daughtry and the Celebrity Sex Pass” is, à la Mr. Wain, an absurdly offbeat comedy that exists in its own farcical world. Gail’s sunny disposition infuses the film’s atmosphere, which brightly resembles Dorothy’s journey to the Emerald City. Wain doesn’t lean into the crudeness of a raunchy fornication arc, but instead mirrors the Technicolor wonderland of Victor Fleming’s 1939 musical about courage, brains, and heart. Except that this yellow brick road ends with
vengeful intercourse and includes a whole lot more gun-toting Weird Al Yankovic.
Deutch is a wide-eyed Kansas girl who’s comically straightforward and enamored by the most inane aspects of Los Angeles. “Gail Daughtry and the Celebrity Sex Pass” thrives on Deutch’s ability to talk openly about her dreams of bumping uglies with her hall pass beauty, barreling forward as a bubbly Midwestern delight in ruby-red shoes. She’s as naive, cutesy, and innocent as Dorthy, which sells Wain’s ridiculous idea to exploit such a wholesome character’s persona. Few actresses could lift such low-hanging jokes as Deutch does.
The ensemble enlisted for “Gail Daughtry and the Celebrity Sex Pass” is just as good, filling in as tin men and cowardly lions. Ben Wang makes a mockery of Creative Artists Agency (CAA) agents as Caleb, Ken Marino’s Vincent is a knock on paparazzi vultures, and John Slattery, well, he’s just a jacked-up caricature of himself who talks a big game. Together with Gutierrez-Riley’s side-eyeing sidekick, Gail’s unlikely band of misfits form this superteam of Los Angeles doofuses who embellish industry stereotypes. Everyone’s having a blast with Wain’s love-it-or-hate-it material, complete with familiar cameos from Wain’s “The State” and “Wet Hot America Summer” family.
You’ll clock whether “Gail Daughtry and the Celebrity Sex Pass” is your speed from an opening scene where Fred Melamed’s mailman introduces himself as a long-winded narrator. It’s a surreal brand of comedy that’s sorely missing from contemporary Hollywood equals.
Wain and Marino rely on slapstick visual gags and bonehead idiotics that choose the most imbecilic possible conclusion to any outcome. They avoid the common lewdness and indecency that poisons so many modern comedy scripts that aren’t confident enough to be funny beyond shock-jock immaturity. It’s a niche approach, less accessible than prior Wain titles like “They Came Together” or “Role Models,” but there’s an enduring charm to the featherweight stakes of parody appeal.
If there’s a negative, it’s that Wain’s production is peculiar to a fault. Admittedly, that’s intentional. But a script littered with exaggerated physical gags and superstar favors is going to have its whiffs. Comedy is subjective, and “Gail Daughtry and the Celebrity Sex Pass” will attract plenty of haters. Especially if you’re not from Los Angeles.
For Angelenos, much of the film tickles a privileged funnybone that lampoons regionally specific tropes. The fact that the Chateau Marmont features so prominently is unavoidably LA-coded, just like the overcompensating praise for the CAA. Gail’s jolly outsider perspective on what Angelenos take for granted is fantastic, but not for everyone. Winks and references are tailor-made for the industry crowd.
And yet, Wain’s unpredictability is what’ll keep audiences giggling. It’s not just Deutch’s good-girl-gone-bad routine, but oodles more. Slattery’s portrayal of an ass-kicking version of himself struggling after “Mad Men” is A+ self-roasting. Wang’s comedy chops are on display as an eager yet overreaching wannabe talent manager who can’t contain his cool. “Gail Daughtry and the Celebrity Sex Pass” is a group effort that never stops pushing the boundaries of weirdness until only one person is laughing, no matter how many times a security guard has to slam a
bulky wooden door on Slattery’s squishy foot.
To dub “Gail Daughtry and the Celebrity Sex Pass” dumb fun is an honest-to-gosh compliment. Wain and Marino concoct a comedic formula that harkens back to spoofy 1980s riots hinged on acceptable stupidity. It’s an unexpected commentary on filmmaking that layers metatextual zingers into its unbelievable rom-com intentions, somehow delivering what the title promises and more. In terms of mainstream comedies, we’re not in Kansas anymore—and that’s a win for Wain’s collective.