A detective sits down at a miniature diner to interrogate a capuchin monkey named Jack about the murder of a bird named Max. It’s a tale of love, passion, and the downward spiral Jack finds himself in, all over a chicken named Toototabon.
Lynch’s 17 minute short plays out in black and white, and our monkey murder suspect is voiced presumably by Lynch due to the absence of any other actors in the credits. Well, except for the 1950s waitress that pops in and out with long-awaited coffee.
The film is as brilliantly shot as it is downright creepy to watch. The lower half of Jack’s face is superimposed with Lynch’s mouth to create the illusion of the two diner patrons having a conversation, and not in fact just a man and a monkey sitting in a tiny box of a room.
The script comes together by the end of the 17 minutes but starts off as confusing as an igloo in the Bahamas. It’s as if the Detective’s lines were written down, and Jack’s were generated by the likes of a robot neural processor story machine.
The format of the back and forth resembles the sort of conversations I would hear my grandfather having with other adults when I was a young boy. I liked that, I don’t know exactly what it was, but I liked it.
It seems as though old Jack has been tracked to this tiny eating establishment after his train-outta-dodge was delayed, allowing for the detective to swoop in for some answers.
So, what the fuck did Jack do?
He fell in love. With Toototabon the chicken. And like all love stories, there’s always a third party trying to steal love’s warm and fuzzy feeling. Meet Max – well, you can’t because he’s pretty dead, all because he flew too close to the cuckold coup and got himself plucked.
The one thing I haven’t been able to understand since watching What did Jack do? the first time or second is why the hell this thing exists? And what did Netflix want with it?
If you enjoy a grown-up beverage or several – enjoy before watching this short film.