There is no one way to sum up the uproariously funny comedian and maniac that is John Early. It would be a fool’s errand to try. However, even with this hedging out of the way, across all his many works, the one uniting factor is that he’s never been one to compromise when it comes to his comedy.
Be it in inventive specials like “Now More Than Ever,” a stellar series like “Search Party,” the chaotic recent film “Stress Positions,” or any of the numerous projects he’s popped up in over the years, he has proven again and again to be a distinct voice whose boundless humor is matched only by his complete commitment to the bit. In each, he never feels like he has anything to prove, surprising you with just how many new ways he finds to increasingly throw himself into madcap material. With this in mind, you’d still be hard-pressed to think of a time he has committed as hard and with as much specificity as he does in his John Waters-esque feature directorial debut “Maddie’s Secret.” It’s this generation’s answer to “Cry-Baby” and also distinctly Early.
Feeling like it’s both sharply poking fun at and also deeply enamored of the countless TV movies you’d stumble upon at 2 a.m., though seem more like half-remembered fever dreams in retrospect, it’s a film that is as insanely funny as it is incredibly specific. In everything from the frequently sickeningly sweet lines of dialogue to the central characterization of the titular Maddie (who, of course, Early also plays) as an innocent dreamer with a heart of gold to the precise way it is shot and the eerily familiar sets that are used, it’s like the director has bottled up déjà vu itself before injecting it directly in your veins. This may overwhelm, baffle, or even cause heart attacks in those unfamiliar with Early’s work, as the many sly style references come fast and furious. But for those who have been looking for more of the pure Early experience, “Maddie’s Secret” is exactly that.
Telling the silly yet also quite serious story of Maddie Ralph, who we first meet running through Los Angeles in an already gleefully absurd opening sequence where her eyes are drawn to images of food at every turn, we soon learn she has what seems like a largely perfect life. She has a caring, initially always shirtless or just about to be, stud of a husband (Eric Rahill) who supports her in everything she does, a close friend (Kate Berlant) who clearly also has feelings for her though is her ride or die, and a job where she is getting increasing opportunities as a video food influencer of sorts flexing her culinary skills.
Still, all is not well in paradise. There is her nightmare of a boss, played by the always great Connor O’Malley, who again makes the most of a small part like he did in this year’s “Friendship,” who is most certainly playing favorites by sleeping with Maddie’s main competition at work, as well as the pressures that come with the constant expectation you must always be posting. As this stress accumulates, Maddie turns to coping via stress eating and then purging as she did when she was young.
This is something that is obviously quite serious and “Maddie’s Secret” doesn’t hide from how this eating disorder could end up killing her. On paper, it doesn’t sound like the makings for a killer comedy, but that is also what makes it all work so well. The delightful jokes and the constantly arch approach are all about the melodramatic movies that attempted to tackle such heavy subjects despite being way out of their depths in doing so.
Just as Early brings a distinctly modern energy in terms of the rhythm of the jokes and the references he makes (one straight-faced line about being an “ally” early on is excellent), “Maddie’s Secret” is a film that’s constantly putting itself in direct conversation with a specific subgenre of TV movies. Thus, if you aren’t entirely on the same wavelength as Early or familiar with some of what he’s skewering, it’s easy to see this being one of the works that some audiences just don’t get. But for those that do, it’s an absolute riot.
The supporting cast surrounding Early is just as spectacular. Rahill’s hilarious himbo husband is so convincingly deadpan. Similarly, Early’s longtime collaborator Berlant steals every scene she’s in, bringing a needed sense of chaos whenever the film is at risk of starting to lose a bit of steam. The strength extends all the way out to the supporting players, with brief appearances by Kristen Johnston as Maggie’s overbearing mother and Vanessa Bayer as a naive new friend she meets near the end of the film each bringing new, joyously unpredictable layers to the comedy.
If Early and company wanted to make another five of these with the same winking flair, each tackling a different flavor of TV movie melodrama, this proves they should have at it. When it comes to comedy as sickly sweet as this, you’ll always want to make room for whatever next course they serve up.
