There are two types of people in this world: Healthy, well-adjusted people and acolytes of Chris Elliott.
A similar fate also befell Cabin Boy, the 1994 feature that Elliott and Resnick wrote as a vehicle for their spiritual descendant of Chris Peterson, the self-proclaimed “fancy lad” Nathaniel Mayweather.
I recently appeared on a podcast to discuss Cabin Boy and filled out the full spectrum of opinion with the two hosts, one of whom found Elliott fully irritating.
But while I would love to live in this beautiful world full of people who gibe with Elliott’s verbose dim-wittedness, I maintain that Cabin Boy still possesses the true cult object’s power to divide.