Talladega Nights, A Review

I am old. I am cranky. I have long felt that Phil Hartman was overrated as a comic. I avoid Adam Sandler, Rob Schneider and Jimmy Fallon whenever possible. I remember when Bill Murray was "the new guy."

Will Ferrell?

Loved the cowbell. Didn't find anything funny in Roxbury. That's about my SNL experience of him. I'll catch his movies when they come on cable occasionally. Loved Zoolander--he was funny in that. Ron Burgundy was fine for watching while sorting socks. He was unexpectedly terrific as The Man In The Yellow Hat in Curious George.

Blades of Glory made me laugh. Sure, it was crude, crass, and stupid, but it was also very funny. Funny enough that I flicked it on and found myself watching the whole thing. Even the big chase scene on ice skates made me laugh. So I rented Talladega Nights, the Ballad of Ricky Bobby. I had heard it was very funny, and I have a goofy love for John C. Reilly.

Cut to the chase: oh my god was this lame.

You could tell Ferrell was coasting--the movie didn't call for him to do much. Some of the actors clearly poured all the energy they could into their roles: John C. Reilly as the best friend, Leslie Bibb as the enabling trophy wife, Amy Adams as Jenna Fischer from Blades of Glory.

They tried. They really tried, but what can a mere actor do when the whole movie is paced like an episode of Teletubbies? The only lively bits were the NASCAR computer graphics. For a movie about speed, it was downright somnolent. Honestly, I gave up after the first 40 minutes, though Captain Sweetie watched it all the way to the end.

I'd write more, but I have to go yell at some kids who are on my lawn.