Sausage Party: Scarring, Obscene, and Absurdly Brilliant

What do horny hot dogs, a lesbian taco, an omnipotent trio of Grits, a Twinkie, and a bottle of liquor have in common in the world of Sausage Party? Religion, obviously.

My friends and I found ourselves standing at an AMC box-office at 10:30 P.M. on a Monday night, shelling out $9 each to see a movie about lewd, cartoon hot dogs. Prior to that, I could confidently say that “three tickets for Sausage Party” was one phrase I never imagined escaping my mouth in this lifetime. I suppose there’s a first for everything.

The extent of our extremely-limited knowledge about the film was that it was comprised of a cast of comedic titans: Seth Rogen, Kristen Wiig, Nick Kroll, James Franco, Jonah Hill, Michael Cera, Bill Hader, etc. That lineup alone was enough to sell us on giving this obscene film a shot. (Side note: Perhaps the true meaning behind the title “Sausage Party” is the fact that there is only one female comedian featured in it. Yikes.)

At first glance, Sausage Party is exactly what it markets itself as: a bawdy account of the surprisingly hormonal-driven lives of profusely swearing, cartoon glove-wearing food products. However, not soon after a ludicrous musical number and an onslaught of obligatory food-puns, Sausage Party defies the audience’s expectations. It delivers the ultimate plot-twist: there’s actually more plot to it, and a substantial amount at that.

The film follows the journey of a group of naive food items as they discover the abhorrent truth behind what grocery-shoppers, or as they call them, “the gods,” do to them after they’re “divinely chosen” from their aisles. Yet another sentence I never thought I’d say, let alone publish.

The food’s unwavering faith in their grocery-shopping gods provides them with a sense of purpose and meaning in life, but varying interpretations of their gods are also what tear them apart. Sound vaguely familiar? It should, because Sausage Party is one great, big, semi-disturbing, sardonic allegory of religion and faith in our world.

Sexual innuendos and brazenly offensive one-liners are woven throughout the 88 minute film as it jabs at all controversial aspects of religion: sin, sexual repression, superiority complexes, differing interpretations of what constitutes faith, you name it.

The film toes the line between ingenious and incredibly-stoned, like a distant cartoon cousin of The Big Lebowski. And although it’s unbearably raunchy at times, its wit nearly balances its incredibly foul humor – a feat not easily accomplished in the genre of stoner-comedy.

Sausage Party thoroughly entertains while instilling a healthy dose of incredulity, perspective, and existentialism in its audience members.

And for an added bonus, it manages to spoil most appetites – free of charge.