I wish I could go higher with the rating for Kings of Mykonos, because this is a fantastic feelgood comedy; there’s a rendition of ‘Down Under’ at the very end that had me gulping back tears of joy, the way I often did (and do) in old musicals when happiness became so complete, so irrational it could only be expressed by breaking into song. Alas, the film has too many lame or cheesy jokes to be fully embraceable – and there’s another reason why I feel I have to temper my enthusiasm. Mykonos gains immeasurably by being set in Greece and co-starring Greek actors (TV goddess Zeta Makrypoulia), meaning it gets compared to that wretched creature, the Greek Comedy. Taken as a Greek Comedy, Kings of Mykonos is the greatest film of all time. Taken as a world-class comedy for global audiences, it’s … enjoyable.
It’s actually Australian, a sequel to The Wog Boy (2000), which did well in Australia but didn’t really travel. ‘Wog’ is the derogatory term Aussies use (or used) for Greek and Italian immigrants, nowadays employed more affectionately and even adopted by the Greeks themselves – and our rather dorky, disco-dancing hero Steve (Nick Giannopoulos) is happy to call himself a “wog boy”, though he doesn’t get much of a chance in Mykonos, where most of the film is set. Instead we get gags about the diaspora awkwardly trying to bond with the motherland, as when Steve and his Italian mate Frank (Vince Colosimo) are met at the ferry by Cousin Jimmy and our hero attempts to make small talk. “Isn’t it far to come from your village?” he asks, mentally stuck in Greece circa 1950. “Yeah sure, and my donkey ran out of hay,” replies Jimmy, leading the way to his small but speedy van.
Being made by outsiders, the film is able to view Greece satirically, not the smug satire of a Lakis Lazopoulos but a genuine bemusement at the nation’s absurdities. Jimmy, for instance, insists on being called ‘Dzimi’; he can say ‘Jimmy’, but will only say it to correct people who don’t call him ‘Dzimi’. Anyone who’s wondered at this strange phonetic aberration of so many Greeks – and of course Cypriots trying to speak ‘good’ Greek, like absurd TV presenters who present the day’s ‘finan-seal’ news even though everyone in Cyprus can say ‘financial’ – will give a silent cheer at seeing it lampooned in a movie.
Even better is the bit where Jimmy tells Steve he must do a ‘fakellaki’ (i.e. bribe) when they meet the solicitor. “I don’t know who Laki is, but I’m certainly not going to fuck him!” says our hero indignantly, getting a predictable laugh – but the actual process of passing the bribe is scarily plausible, the lawyer turning his back long enough for the small envelope to be placed in a folder on his desk, whereupon he turns back nonchalantly and shuts the folder without even looking. That the lawyer looks seedy, chain-smokes and sports a grotesque comb-over is merely a bonus.
All that is partly why Mykonos works so much better than your average Greek Comedy – but the main reason is because it’s so much better-made. The direction is smooth, the camera always in the right place. Take, for instance, the bit where lovestruck Steve tries to shower nightclub singer Zoe (Ms. Makrypoulia) with flowers. As they talk, it’s a simple case of shot/reverse-shot – but then Zoe stands waiting for the flowers and Steve fumbles as he tries to throw them, and director Peter Andrikidis cannily cuts to a two-shot, making the stand-off even funnier. Many bits have a subtle humour that’s more Anglo-Saxon (or Australian) than Greek, as when Steve – who’s desperate for cash – is listening to Jimmy’s spiel about cousins and family. “Am I related to the bank manager?” he asks plaintively. Cut to a man we’ve never seen before standing in the street, laughing uproariously, as Steve walks away looking dejected. He’s asked for a loan, been rejected out of hand – and no, they’re not related.
Fans of The Wog Boy (which I haven’t seen) may be disappointed. There’s a whole crew of characters from the first film – Frank’s dad, Steve’s uncle, Tony the Yugoslav who mangles the English language (“Lesbianese”, “malicious prostitution”, “I demand political vagina”) and says “fuckit” at the end of every sentence – who barely appear here. Like the upcoming Sex and the City sequel, which takes Carrie and Co. to Abu Dhabi, Mykonos broadens its scope only to get bogged down in some over-familiar culture-clash malarkey. Some of the jokes, like the sign reading “Wellcum to Panos’ bitch” or the Spartan wife wielding a rolling-pin, are just bad.
Yet the film’s a winner, teeming with good humour, mindful of the gap between saucy and coarse, taking its cue from Giannopoulos as the naïve, good-natured, rather maladroit Wog Boy who’s happier with cars than people (“You were talking to the car”; “Why does everyone think that’s weird?”). Meanwhile, best friend Frank is a would-be Lothario with can’t-miss chat-up lines (“I’m new in Mykonos. Could you give me directions to your hotel room?”), and we also have a passel of gorgeous women, a hissable villain, Kevin Sorbo as the King of Mykonos – who turns out to have a Ph.D in Urban Planning – and a pair of goat-loving German archaeologists whose presence turns out to be more than incidental. When the film sets up a Hollywood climax then deftly, unexpectedly sidesteps it, going instead for something zanier – and more generous, making use of the whole cast instead of just Steve – you may feel like cheering. When’s the last time anybody cheered at a Greek comedy?
