Klown Forever

In 2012, at the time of its release in the United States, Klown was positioned as a revolutionary comedy—an antidote to raunchy but crowd pleasing road trip adventures like The Hangover. Klown was a black sheep, more akin to Jackass than a Judd Apatow movie and more taboo in its first half hour than the majority of most mainstream R-rated comedies. Based on the Danish series of the same name, Klown was part of a lineage of television cringe comedies (like the conceit behind Curb Your Enthusiasm most of all, which is similarly about a reasonably well-known celebrity caricature), mining humor from the escalation of the quotidian details of life—and also some incredibly uncomfortable-to-watch sexual exploits.
The six season series and the first movie have enough all-time gags for at least a few spectacular Youtube highlight reels, but it’s harder to pin down this year’s sequel, Klown Forever, which is cynical and sentimental in equal measure. Taking place five years after the original, which portrayed the horrific social awkwardness of Frank’s (Frank Hvam) journey to prove his parenting bonafides to his girlfriend, Mia (Mia Lyhne), Klown Forever finds him fully immersed in his responsibilities as an father with a young daughter, Cora, and a newborn baby.
Meanwhile, Casper (Casper Christensen), Frank’s constant partner-in-crime, is still very much a self-centered, raging horndog. But Klown Forever is less about Frank and Casper’s misadventures than it is the realization that it’s difficult to be best friends with someone who’s in a different place in his life. The latest evidence of, and final straw in, their friendship is, ironically, a book about their friendship, which is only weeks away from publication. And that comes before Frank’s belated discovery that Casper is leaving their mutual home of Denmark for the United States—a sting sharpened by the fact that Frank finds this out through a newspaper article.