Rewind Files: The Simple Endurance of Napoleon Dynamite

Rewind Files is when we take a second look at a piece of media to gain a better sense of its greatness, its awfulness, or its place in the cultural landscape.

It’s amazing how funny Napoleon Dynamite is, and that’s not meant in a hyperbolic, “amazingly funny” way. Read that literally: It’s amazing that Napoleon Dynamite is this funny. It’s so weird and WTF-ey and mundane. It’s a classic.

The three most quotable comedies since 2000 are Anchorman (mega-watt cast), Borat (grand-slam premise), and the inexplicable Napoleon Dynamite. It sticks out. There’s nothing about Napoleon in retrospect that indicates the movie would be such a hit, and there’s nothing we can point out and say, “Well duh, that was going to be huge.” No one broke out of this movie (Jon Heder? A little?) and it didn’t exactly break ground in its moviemaking sensibilities. Everything we remember about Napoleon Dynamite has strictly to do with Napoleon Dynamite. Its impact is intangible and hard to pinpoint, and its legacy is pretty much solely rooted in being funny. For a movie this popular, that feels unusual.

It’s important to say that, yes, 12 years later, Napoleon Dynamite is as special as you remember. The lines crush. The baffling performances prime you perfectly to crack up. The aesthetic is peanut-butter-sandwich plain. Coming back to this movie is like eating Kraft mac and cheese. You know it isn’t good for you, but you love it anyway, and when something tries to replace it, there’s really no substitute. Napoleon is nostalgic; an unadorned, humble delight.

But why don’t we like something better? There are smarter comedies out there. More expensive ones, too. Why do we go for “the one in the blue box,” as it were, when we could have chef-quality mac with just a little more time and some real milk and real cheese? What is it about these characters, this setting, these quotes, that makes Napoleon so invincible and enduring? That’s hard. After all, we’re talking about a guy who draws ligers and stows away tater tots for later.

Everyone’s the hero of their own story. We hear that a lot. Everyone’s the underdog in their own story, too. Napoleon as a character is certainly both—he imagines himself a hero (remember the grunts as he plays tetherball against no one? Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. He was beating someone.) and he’s presented as the underdog, even if he offers no evidence of that mindset himself. (His first invitee to play tetherball? Summer—the most popular girl in school. His date to the dance? Trisha—the second-most popular girl in school. The bullies aren’t bigger or stronger either; they’re just—say it with me—frickin’ idiots.)

There’s an easy answer here: We all took to Napoleon because we all see ourselves in his outcast position. Eh. That doesn’t seem quite right. Why is Napoleon a funny character? Because he’s really effing weird. If you think you identify with Napoleon Dynamite, put yourself in that lunchroom. Would you sit next to him? No way. He’d just take your tots. This guy doesn’t endear himself to us because we project our images onto him—he’s too far out there. Then how? How does he transcend weirdness?

The answer’s outside of Napoleon. Look around him. His brother Kip chats with babes online all day. His uncle Rico dreams of going to the NFL and creeps on high-school girls. His grandma peaces out on weekends to go ride ATVs in the dunes. He has a pet llama named Tina who needs to come get some dinner. Napoleon’s life is gross and dysfunctional and entirely void of any sheen or veneer. There’s no façade. We walk into his crappy little house and the cheese from Kip’s nachos (I’m kinda busy right now.) are still on the counter. In Napoleon’s world everyone else manifests themselves as an enemy, an obstacle, or a possible ally. It’s very clear who’s who, too. This isn’t a world where the jocks find a soft spot and the geeky girls take off their glasses and become knockouts. Napoleon has to sift through everything as it is, and for the viewer, the only surprise is that there are absolutely no surprises.

So what makes Napoleon Dynamite so funny and permanent? It goes back to that Kraft mac and cheese theory of familiarity. But his persona and setting isn’t familiar; his circumstance is. We all fell for Napoleon because we all live in a world populated by people we think are idiots. We all have tots we want to save for later before some douche in a crewcut stomps his army boots all over them. We all have godforsaken Tinas waiting in our backyards, refusing to eat the slop we have to dump in front of them. As absurd as Napoleon’s world is, its honesty is undeniable. It’s just off-center from real life, but it still feels like real life. That’s its secret. That’s why this movie is great.

Napoleon Dynamite is not relatable, but it captures the anxiety we feel when we come home after a long day and just want to fall back into routine, where things don’t come out of nowhere and people just say what they feel. No games. No illusions. No surprise Uncle Ricos. We can just practice our sweet dance moves without having to shut the door first. That’s a safe, comforting feeling. That’s a good-old-days feeling. That’s a Kraft mac and cheese feeling.*

*Kraft mac and cheese is not a sponsor of According to Dazz. Though if you know anyone who can hook us up, that’d be sweet.