Revisiting Jackass‘ Friendly Fellowship of Pain
Photo Courtesy of MTV
It is the year 2000. Jeff Hardy flips off a ladder to put Bubba Ray Dudley through a table in front of nearly 20,000 people at the 16th annual WrestleMania. True Life: I’m a Backyard Wrestler premieres, showing wannabe performers falling from great heights in front of far smaller crowds. Dave Mirra nails a double backflip at The X Games just before Tony Hawk Pro Skater 2 sells over a million copies less than a month after its release. Under newfound sanctions, UFC 28 sees Randy Couture regain the UFC Heavyweight Championship through TKO, mounting his opponent Kevin Randleman and pummeling his face until blood seeps into his eyes. And Johnny Knoxville introduces himself to MTV’s audience, staring into the camera before promptly falling off his skateboard on the vert ramp, landing with a meaty “Oh, that had to hurt” thud. The next week’s episode of Jackass will break network records.
American entertainment has never been devoid of people hurting themselves, or at least the potential promise of people getting hurt. From the many near-deaths of the acclaimed Buster Keaton to the imported stunt work of Jackie Chan to the countless “fail” videos of today, we’ve encountered a wide spectrum of the trained and untrained, the ones able to afford a nice crash mat and the others just hoping that the mattress set up beside the porch will be enough. We’re fixated on it, even if it’s not at the forefront of our intentions for watching. There’s a tiny part of our brain ready for one knee-jerk and a resounding “OOHHHHHHH” that will echo off the walls of the office, the living room, the sports bar. It’s that tiny part that Jackass, a truly extraordinary great cultural product, taps into.
Jackass, with its consistent troupe of willing test subjects that have now become legends (like Johnny Knoxville, Steve-O, Bam Margera, Chris Pontius, and “Wee Man”) was immensely popular and immensely controversial from the start. Their war with censorship was massive and inevitable, and by 2002, the show ended. These guys weren’t powerful idols like professional wrestlers, or experienced athletes like mixed martial artists and extreme sports performers. Instead they were, for the most part, just regular dudes—the kind parents and pundits feared would be eminently imitated by the teenagers watching at home.
The previous bastion of people getting hurt and/or embarrassed on camera, America’s Funniest Home Videos, had an aw-shucks innocuousness to it. Grandpa would accidentally fall into the Christmas tree, earning a comfy laugh due to the fact that it was just a little, funny window into the normal life of someone far away. Meanwhile, every jolt, leap, and tumble from the Jackass cast was accompanied by riotous laughter from their own co-stars. It was real and painful and funny, and its success destroyed the idea that it was merely an abhorrent lump on the side of proper entertainment values. The first movie opened at number one at the box office and would eventually gross almost $80 million worldwide. Reviews ranged between “hilarious and provocative” to “the decline of Western civilization.”