DRAFTHOUSE FILMS released the first 10 minutes of The FP online a few weeks ago, and I'd suggest watching it, but truly, nothing can prepare you for the full film. The best way I can describe it is that it's like watching genius and retardation tongue kiss for 82 minutes.
"The FP" is short for Frazier Park, a tiny California community where the Trost siblings grew up (brothers Brandon and Jason wrote and directed the film, sister Sarah designed the costumes). Their fictionalized hometown is the setting for a turf war between rival gangs the 248, from the North (the good guys), and the 245, from the South, with costumes like wigger-ized Civil War uniforms by way of Aspen Extreme. They do most of their fighting not with their fists but through a copyright-suit-proof version of Dance Dance Revolution called Beat Beat Revelation, which, for some reason, sometimes kills people. You might expect a silly sketch about guys in moon boots dance-fighting in an underground warehouse to drag as a feature-length film (and it does, a tiny bit), but overall it works, and in fact the utter ridiculousness of the undertaking is the driving force of the narrative.
I'm sure plenty of people have gotten their high school buddies together to make a silly movie full of their inside jokes as a lark, but never has that vision been so fully realized. The FP cost less than $100,000 to make and still looks expensive, meticulously building a world unto itself and a language to go with it—a vulgar, hyper-stylized, suburban rap vernacular in which characters call each other "Clam Chowder" and "Snowcone," and say things like, "Don't let this shit put your brain on flips, you gotta think of beat beat like it was the Civil War!"
For the most part, The FP is just a skeleton of a story on which to hang quirks, silly costumes, and oddball details (the facial expressions of the extras alone are worth the price of admission). As with other joke-dense spoofs like Naked Gun, you could watch The FP 12 times and still find new ones, but the glue holding it all together is Art Hsu as KCDC, giving a performance for the ages, and I'm totally serious about this. I guarantee playing an English monarch or a dyslexic Holocaust orphan who discovers a cello or the usual awards-bait crap is a lot easier than staying fully committed while delivering lines like "Dayum! That shit's DELUXE! Yo kicks got smiles humped all up my face!"
I guess what I'm saying is, check a look at it, you pancake munchers. Don't be the knuckle fluffer dressed as a bitch.