Ricky Bobby (Ferrell), born in what looks like a yee-haw Dukes of Hazzard episode, has always wanted to go fast. So it's natural that, with a lucky break or two, he becomes a Nascar champion with his best buddy (Reilly) at his side. He marries a sexy fan (Bibb), has a couple of kids, keeps his sponsor (Germann) happy. Then, of course, it all goes wrong and he's forced to reconnect with his parents (Lynch and Cole), rediscover his passion and face his arch-nemesis, the French ponce Jean Girard (Cohen).

The film takes off with a flurry of corny gags that amusingly poke fun at everyday things like, for example, what age we imagine Jesus to be when we say grace. The script is packed with hilariously telling bits of comedy, such as Ricky's sons being named Walker and Texas Ranger ("If we'd wanted wusses, we'd have named them Dr Quinn and Medicine Woman"). Essentially, everyone in this film is slow-witted, homophobic and racist.

Fortunately, the film is so relentlessly stupid that we can't take it seriously. Which makes the story's earnest moralising deeply pointless. And very dull. Even the sharp cast can't quite rescue the film once it falls into a gloomy funk. Ferrell creates his usual likeable goombah, although he's pricklier than usual. Reilly is terrific as the loyal but thoughtless guy who genuinely hasn't a clue. Cohen steals the film as wonderfully slithery Eurotrash.

The racing scenes are especially well-filmed--exciting and energetic, with lots of fabulous crashes. And the warped, absurd moments continually catch us off guard. You can't help but love Ricky's assistant's (Adams) rousing inspirational speech at the end. Or the 1980s power rock song score. Or the ridiculous closing credit scenes. But you also wish the writers had given us something to grab hold of.

themes, language, vulgarity

1.Aug.06