In Defense of the Mormon Comedy
More than just in-jokes, the Mormon comedies of the early 2000s presented Latter-day Saints with authentic representations of their unique faith and culture.
Our motion picture specialists, with the inspiration of heaven, should tomorrow be able to produce a masterpiece which would live forever.
President Spencer W. Kimball, “Education for Eternity” (1967)
Glowing, clean-shaven missionaries or wife-snatching polygamists. For most of the twentieth century, these were the only two options for Mormon characters on screen. Church-produced videos depicted Latter-day Saints as shining, modest, loving families that emanated God’s righteous glory. Outsiders often opted for strange cultists hellbent on world domination or ditzy, well-meaning characters too eccentric to mix into mainstream society.
The dawn of the twenty-first century promised a more nuanced portrayal of the faith when Richard Dutcher’s 1999 film God’s Army, a dramatic independent film following the life of a young missionary in Sacramento, earned over $2 million in a limited-run release throughout the Mormon Corridor. Dutcher’s three-dimensional missionaries escaped the shackles of elders in Church productions, connecting with Mormon audiences through their realistic immaturity and heartfelt performances.
The newly birthed Mormon cinema movement over the next several years included theatrically released films like The Other Side of Heaven, The Singles Ward, and The Best Two Years that aimed to entertain, inspire, and profit off a newfound Mormon audience willing and excited to spend money on low-budget films depicting their own culture and faith.
Despite its grand beginnings, the newfound Mormon cinema didn’t last long. Within five years of God’s Army’s surprise success, the movement lay on life support. A gluttony of low-budget, quirky comedies oversaturated the niche Mormon market leaving Latter-day Saint audiences less enthusiastic to spend another theater ticket on yet another formulaic Mormon comedy.
Richard Dutcher, known by many as the father of Mormon cinema, blamed his fellow Mormon filmmakers for losing the audiences’ trust by flooding theaters with “an avalanche of mediocrity.” With the flood of Mormon comedies clearly in the back of his mind, Dutcher decried: “They’ve absolutely destroyed the LDS market. They’re seriously not trying to make good [movies], and [are] making excuses for why their movies aren’t good.”
Other than a couple of exceptions, the Mormon comedic box-office poison lay at the bottom of Deseret Book DVD bins after their disappointingly short theatrical runs. Now merely relics of a past age for many Latter-day Saints, they are often dismissed as low-quality, failed opportunities to create a lasting Mormon cinema movement that more accurately portrayed Latter-day Saint characters to both member and non-member audiences.
While not critical successes or cinematic masterpieces, these early 2000s Mormon comedies don’t deserve such a harsh reputation. From movies like Mobsters and Mormons and Sons of Provo, Mormon comedies offer a unique perspective that contrasts with the previous highly stereotyped representations of the faith and its members. Despite their unassuming, quirky, low-budget status, these films captured previously unseen representations of Mormon experiences, investigated the expanding faith’s relationship to broader American culture, and occasionally portrayed unsavory and uncomfortable aspects of Mormon culture.
Capturing Underrepresented Mormon Experiences
Through the early 2000s Mormon cinema movement, Latter-day Saints could see accurate representations of themselves on the same screens on which they consumed Hollywood blockbusters. Given the dearth of prior Mormon-related commercial successes, it should be no surprise to find in even the most comical of these films groundbreaking portrayals of various Mormon experiences.
For instance, The Singles Ward, the most successful Mormon comedy at the box office, portrays the concerns of a recently divorced Latter-day Saint. Corey (Will Swenson), a faithful, energetic BYU student, has his world turned upside down when his wife, a convert of only one year, declares her participation in the Church and their storybook temple marriage over. Faced with the prospect of either being labeled a failure by his family ward or re-entering the chaotic dating scene of a singles ward, Corey becomes disillusioned with the Church and chooses to live entirely without its influence.
Corey’s slow drift away from the church, alongside his enjoyment of living unburdened by pharisaical cultural taboos of not watching R-rated movies, provides a fresh change of pace from previous conventional Mormon characters. Instead of portraying an inactive, disobedient detractor as a two-dimensional portrayer of evil à la 1980s seminary videos, the film humanizes Corey’s pain and hurt over losing his ideal life even after doing everything the church taught him to be right.
Although his reactivation and marriage at the film’s conclusion undercuts this representation and reinforces the cultural expectations that caused Corey to rush into his first marriage, The Singles Ward manages to authentically represent issues facing both single and divorced Latter-day Saints that had hardly been portrayed in previous Mormon cinema.
The following year’s The RM similarly portrays a previously under-discussed aspect of Mormon life: returned missionaries’ struggle adjusting to post-mission life. Elder Jared Phelps (Kirby Heyborne) arrives back from his mission to find his homecoming at the airport devoid of any friends and family, his previous job gone up in smoke, and his girlfriend engaged to another man.
Much like The Singles Ward, the conflict of The RM revolves around the protagonist discovering that his culture’s lofty expectations of young adults do not accurately reflect the complexity and difficulty of his post-mission experience. For the majority of the film, Jared’s faithfully served mission does little to propel him to immediate economic, marital, and spiritual success. Characters’ repeated encouragements and reminders to Jared that he will enjoy all the blessings of going on a mission ring hollow and do little to help Jared adjust to his new adult life.
Much like The Singles Ward‘s happy ending, Jared’s quick engagement and spiritual re-awakening at the film’s conclusion undercuts The RM’s empathetic look at returned missionaries’ struggles. The viewer leaves the film with the message that patient perseverance will make everything alright in the end rather than a needed critique of the very cultural pressures that propelled Jared’s unrealistic post-mission expectations to begin with.
Even as many of these Mormon comedy films fell back on a simple formula of comedic trials leading ultimately to redemption and a simple, happy ending in the last act, they opened up a space for accurate and representative portrayals of various issues in Mormon life that had rarely seen the light of day in previous decades of film. A simple acknowledgment that Mormon expectations are too high was a small but significant step in the portrayal of Mormon stories.
Mormons’ Place in Broader Society
Enjoying steady growth in an era when other faiths’ numbers were dwindling, Mormons in the early 2000s enjoyed untethered optimism. The church and its members sought to capitalize on their growth to gain acceptance as a mainstream religion in America and abroad. The Mormon films of the period reflected this optimism while grappling with the difficulties of integrating into mainstream American society amidst the Mormon moment.
Baptists at Our Barbecue examines the relationship between Mormons and non-members in the fictional small town of Longfellow, Arizona. Divided along religious lines (262 Mormons and 262 Baptists), the eccentric townspeople fail to get along, keeping to their own lives and only begrudgingly associating with the other faith’s members out of necessity. When a Utah Mormon moves to the town to accept the position of park ranger, he aims to bring both faiths together through a ward-sponsored barbecue.
While the protagonists are Mormon, this is not a one-sided feud that places the blame squarely on the Baptists to elevate the truth claims of the Mormons. The Baptists construct a moat to block out the Latter-day Saint mobile-home chapel. The Mormons in turn burn their hymn books because signing is too “Baptist.” The townspeople accept the fact that Mormons and Baptists are fundamentally incompatible, an assumption that other Christians and the non-religious have often made of Mormons.
By bringing the town together through a simple ward-sponsored barbecue, the film’s call for unity relies on human connection more so than on a shared belief in Christ. No theological discussions or cultural concessions are made between the two faiths; rather, the unity achieved at the conclusion of Baptists at our Barbecue allows each side to accept each other’s unique differences without any need to convert or change each other. The need to expand the faith’s influence and power subsides when both sides agree to learn from and support each other despite their disagreements and prior resentments.
Mobsters and Mormons approaches interfaith cooperation by uniquely making a non-member family the film’s protagonists. After their father strikes a deal with the FBI after facing jail time for his mob activities, the newly renamed Cheeseman family enter the witness protection program and are forced to relocate across the country to Salt Lake City.
The only non-Mormons on the block, the Cheesemans quickly find themselves on the receiving end of the well-meaning but self-righteous ward members as they struggle to integrate into their Latter-day Saint neighborhood. Except for a selfless, non-judgmental bishopric member, the ward is unable to fully accept the Cheesemans’ more upbeat personality and rougher edges.
While mainstream films often lean on Mormon in-jokes, this Mormon-helmed motion picture refreshingly changes the comedic arithmetic—relying on the incongruities between the frank and raunchy Cheesemans and the reserved, polite Latter-day Saint neighbors for laughs. For instance, Mr. Cheeseman’s off-color humor at a welcome-to-the-neighborhood family dinner injects needed energy into a boring dinner conversation that leaves uptight Mormons at a loss for words. The humor lies not merely in references to Mormon celebrities and cultural practices but in the ward members’ unwillingness or inability to connect with a member outside of their faith and culture.
More serious-minded, dramatic Mormon narratives would easily frame this as the Chessemans’ conversion story; instead, much like Baptists at Our Barbecue, Mobsters and Mormons maintains and celebrates the differences between the Cheesemans and the Latter-day Saint neighborhood.
The film’s denouement features not a baptism but the forging of a lasting friendship between the Cheesemans and the Mormons. Relocated once again, Mr. Cheeseman generously invites a set of missionaries over for dinner after stating he is not interested in hearing any more about the church. Mobsters and Mormons offers a hopeful message that Mormons can simultaneously embrace their own idiosyncrasies while warmly accepting others of different faiths and cultures.
These two localized stories of Mormons learning to accept and embrace others not of their faith provide a stark contrast with the missionary-minded lessons taught frequently over the pulpit and in Sunday school. Although rather subtle about it, Mobsters and Mormons and Baptists at Our Barbecue emphasize the need to look inwards and improve Mormon culture rather than proselytize and change others’ behaviors and beliefs.
Critiquing Mormon Culture
Because of their light-hearted tone, the 2000s Mormon comedies provided an opportunity to critique several aspects of church culture without distancing or offending its Latter-day Saint audience. These comedies provide a gentle ribbing of Mormon faith and culture that balances the positive and negative aspects of experiencing Latter-day Saint culture.
For instance, Mobsters and Mormons critiques prim and proper Mormons more concerned about upholding virtuous appearances than loving and accepting those outside of their faith. The only exception is the ward’s first counselor in the bishopric who manages to become friends with the Cheeseman family after accepting them for who they are. By providing a positive example of the first counselor’s selfless friendship compared with the rest of the ward’s selfishness, the film successfully critiques church culture without alienating or belittling its audience while providing an opportunity for the audience to better accept others not interested in joining the church.
Sons of Provo takes its criticism of Mormon culture even further through its use of satire. Sons of Provo, a This Is Spinal Tap-esque mockumentary, follows a Mormon boy band’s ascension into regional stardom. Much in the vein of The Singles Ward and The RM—with their constant use of in-jokes to poke fun at Mormon culture—Sons of Provo takes common stereotypes and turns the Mormoness of each character up to an eleven to uncover the ridiculousness of several aspects of Mormon culture.
For instance, when introducing the newest member to the band, Kirby breaks down in tears recounting a simple story of his parents giving him a CTR ring as a child. Spewing a fountain of tears while recalling a common occurrence for Mormon children of that generation brilliantly lampoons the stereotype of men who only allow themselves to convey vulnerability and negative emotions through spiritual experiences.
Much of the film’s and soundtrack’s songs, for which the film is mostly remembered among Latter-day Saints, expertly lampoon several Mormon cultural norms. Several examples include:
“Love Me But Don’t Show Me” pokes fun at impossibly high sexual purity standards in Mormon dating:
If we start to making out girl, you won’t be wearing white.
The “Diddly Wack Mormon Daddy” rap juxtaposes Mormons’ desire to be accepted as cool by society while trying to maintain their orthodox and pious views:
I’m the diddly wack-mack Mormon daddy. Yo, my peeps all be conformin’ cause it’s cool to be a Mormon.
“Spiritual As Me” critiques pharisaical members trying to one-up everyone else’s spiritualness by following rote orders to the most extreme limits:
When I’m eating lunch in the cafeteria I bow my head and pray out loud. I’m so humble and meek and possessing such heavenly qualities make me proud.
While never engaging in serious critique or questioning of church doctrine, these comedies allowed filmmakers and audiences to let their guard down. Made by and for Mormons exclusively, the pressure to put the faith’s and culture’s best foot forward evaporated, allowing gentle jabs at both the eccentricities and shortcomings of church members and culture.
The Mormon Comedy’s Resurrection?
As the late 2000s sounded a death knell for the production line of theatrically released Mormon-centric films, filmmakers continued trotting out films for home video and later streaming, albeit in smaller numbers. Whether scared off by the financial failure previous Mormon comedies meet or concentrated on making films marketable to those outside of Mormonism, Latter-day Saint filmmakers today largely stay away from the comedies that defined early 2000s Mormon films. Instead, Latter-day Saint cinema is dominated by formulaic, faith-promoting films of pioneers and missionaries that too often play like a General Conference anecdote than a compelling cinematic experience.
Many Latter-day Saints today may not be clamoring for the return of these cheaply produced Mormon comedies, but they should be. Modern-day Latter-day Saints don’t get to see the diverse representation of themselves on screen, examinations of healthy relationships with non-members, and good-natured humorous critiques of the niche culture that the 2000s comedies provided. These silly comedies I replayed Sunday after Sunday growing up gave me the tools to examine my own culture and faith, helping me identify both their positive and negative aspects.
The stories told and characters portrayed would look different today than they did twenty years ago. Instead of grappling with Latter-day Saints’ elevated societal attention and positive press, today’s comedies would navigate a cultural climate in which Mormons receive widespread criticism. Instead of comically representing the struggles of single and divorced Latter-day Saint young adults, today’s comedies could bring authentic experiences of Latter-day Saints of diverse cultural, ethnic, political, and queer backgrounds to modern faithful audiences.
Just as their predecessors did, modern Mormon comedies in the streaming age wouldn’t garner the praise of critics or fulfill any prophetic declarations, yet they would no doubt provide a fertile space for Latter-day Saints to work out their own place in the turbulent American culture of 2023.