Alright, fellow tapeheads, let's rewind to the strange and fuzzy days of the late 90s. Picture this: the grant money's vanished, the academic vultures are circling, and your only escape route involves convincing the world you've discovered a hitherto unknown tribe... living entirely within the confines of your suburban backyard. That, in a slightly unhinged nutshell, is the wonderfully ludicrous premise behind 1998's Krippendorf's Tribe, a film that feels perfectly preserved in the amber – or perhaps the slightly degraded magnetic tape – of its era.
### The Professor's Perilous Plan
At the heart of this chaos is Richard Dreyfuss as Professor James Krippendorf. Dreyfuss, already a screen legend thanks to blockbusters like Jaws (1975) and thoughtful dramas like Mr. Holland's Opus (1995), dives headfirst into the role of a flustered, desperate single dad and anthropologist. Having squandered a hefty $100,000 grant meant for finding a lost tribe in New Guinea (mostly on keeping his three kids fed and clothed after his wife's passing), James is backed into a corner. His solution? Fabricate the "Shelmikedmu," an indigenous tribe whose elaborate rituals and bizarre customs are suspiciously convenient to film using his own children, some mud, loincloths, and a healthy dose of imagination.
Dreyfuss really throws himself into the physical comedy here, selling the mounting panic and the sheer absurdity of trying to maintain this elaborate hoax. You can practically feel his sweat through the screen as the lie snowballs, fueled by the demands of ambitious young anthropologist Veronica Micelli, played with peak late-90s effervescence by Jenna Elfman. Elfman was riding high on the success of TV's Dharma & Greg at the time, and her infectious energy provides the perfect counterpoint to Dreyfuss's frazzled academic. She wants footage, artifacts, access – and James has to deliver, leading to increasingly frantic backyard "documentary" shoots.
### Backyard Anthropology and 90s Charm
The real fun, of course, comes from watching the Krippendorf kids – Shelly (a young Natasha Lyonne, already showcasing that distinctive sardonic spark we'd see later in films like Slums of Beverly Hills that same year), Mickey (Gregory Smith), and Edmund (Carl Michael Lindner) – getting roped into their dad's scheme. Their transformations into Shelmikedmu natives, complete with invented language and rituals often based on mocking their annoying neighbours or dealing with household chores, are the comedic engine of the film. Remember those scenes of them "hunting" the family dog or performing elaborate "fertility rituals" involving stolen garden gnomes? It's pure, goofy farce.
One wonders what the original author, Frank Parkin, who wrote the 1985 novel this was based on, thought of the cinematic interpretation. The film certainly leans into broad comedy, perhaps influenced by director Todd Holland, who cut his teeth on sharp TV comedies like The Larry Sanders Show and would later direct episodes of Malcolm in the Middle. Holland also directed the 1989 cult classic The Wizard, another film indelibly linked to its time. Here, he keeps things moving at a breezy pace, even if the plot occasionally strains credulity beyond its already elastic limits. The filming, primarily done in sunny Californian suburbs like Pasadena and Monrovia, perfectly captures that generic, slightly bland backdrop against which the "tribal" chaos erupts.
### That Fuzzy VHS Feeling
Watching Krippendorf's Tribe today feels like unearthing a time capsule. The humour is gentle, sometimes bordering on silly, and the stakes, while high for James, never feel truly dangerous. It’s a high-concept comedy typical of the 90s, relying on its premise and the charm of its leads rather than sharp satire or edgy jokes. The "documentary" footage James creates, meant to look authentically primitive, now just looks charmingly low-budget, perfectly capturing that slightly degraded, home-video aesthetic many of us associate with favourite VHS rentals.
Interestingly, despite the star power of Dreyfuss and Elfman, Krippendorf's Tribe wasn't exactly a smash hit. It reportedly cost around $21 million to make but only pulled in about $7.8 million at the box office. Critics were largely unkind, often pointing to the implausibility and sitcom-level plotting. Yet, like so many films from the era, it found a second life on video store shelves. I distinctly remember seeing that cover art – Dreyfuss looking stressed amidst his "tribe" – staring out from the "New Releases" wall. It became one of those amiable, easy-watch comedies you might rent on a Friday night, perfect for when you just wanted something light and funny.
The film definitely has its dated elements – the technology, the fashion (oh, the 90s!), and perhaps a slightly naive approach to cultural representation, even within its farcical context. But there’s an undeniable sweetness to it, particularly in the way the family pulls together, however misguided their methods. It’s a reminder of a time when a major studio (Disney's Touchstone Pictures, in this case) would greenlight such a quirky, premise-driven comedy.
Rating: 6/10
Justification: While undeniably goofy, predictable in stretches, and built on a foundation of pure silliness, Krippendorf's Tribe coasts a long way on the frantic charm of Richard Dreyfuss, the bubbly energy of Jenna Elfman, and the sheer, brazen absurdity of its central conceit. It’s flawed, sure, and commercially it stumbled. But as a slice of late-90s comedic fluff discovered on VHS, it offered amiable laughs and a kind of comforting predictability. It's not high art, but it never pretended to be.
Final Thought: A fuzzy, feel-good fabrication from the twilight of the tape era, Krippendorf's Tribe is proof that sometimes, the most outlandish discoveries are made right in your own backyard... especially when there’s grant money involved. Still good for a nostalgic chuckle, if not a profound anthropological insight.