Margaret Cho: Assassin
Anger is the gasoline of stand-up comedians, the fuel that gets them revved. But just as too much gas will flood a carburetor, an overdose of anger can stall a comic’s inspiration, infusing jokes with a didactic sputter. Working hard to live up to the title of her new concert film, Margaret Cho: Assassin, Margaret Cho lets loose her rage — at George Bush, at ”Bible-thumping, cousin-humping monster-truck enthusiasts,” at any woman who won’t call herself a feminist. (”If you’re not a feminist,” she declares, ”you should kill yourself!”) If Cho were vying for a talk-radio show on Air America, Assassin might make a brilliant audition, but most of it is more shrill than witty. Even those who may agree with Cho’s agenda are never allowed to forget that it is an agenda. Cho tosses off good bits on Arnold Schwarzenegger and the tyranny of the culinarily correct (”Do not f— with vegans…because they are hungry!”). I kept feeling, however, that a scandalously free, how-dare-you-pigeonhole-me stand-up artist had been replaced by a rigid clone: Comrade Margaret.