Ferrell Satisfies His Need for Speed

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The New York Sun

If the new Will Ferrell NASCAR mashup movie “Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby” were a drinking game in which a sip is taken for every flashing product placement, and a guzzle for every lingering one, inebriation would set in around the half-hour mark. But even without buckets of laugh-enabling alcohol, it’s a movie with enough genuine chuckles that the cacophony of consumerism is almost muted.

Essentially a public relations campaign for NASCAR masquerading as a late-summer event comedy, “Talladega Nights” rescues Mr. Ferrell from the box-office wilderness he’s been wandering through for the past year.After serving for years as a show-stealing second banana in films like “Zoolander” and “Old School,” Mr. Ferrell suddenly transformed into a movie star by headlining the excellent holiday fluff “Elf” and the addictively quotable hipster classic “Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy.” But then came the loathsome soccer disaster “Kicking & Screaming,” followed by the even more horrid “Bewitched,”and just as suddenly as he had become a star, Mr. Ferrell’s claim as the new century’s Jim Carrey seemed to collapse.

Happily for admirers, he roars back with “Talladega Nights,” and he’s not hedging his bets. The movie is a fascinating exercise in engineering a foolproof comic success. Even if the theaters are barren on opening weekend, this movie will have made its money back with its plethora of plugs.

Surprisingly, the plugs fascinate. A generous lacquer of irony coating the constant shout-outs to Wonder Bread, Appelbee’s, and Old Spice means that every reference is both a wink and a commercial. A dinner scene with Mr. Ferrell, as NASCAR champion Ricky Bobby, and his family praying over a red state feast of Taco Bell, Domino’s Pizza, and Powerade amuses because, for good or bad, mass culture is one of the few aspects of modern life that binds us together. Centuries from now, anthropologists will sift through our commercials instead of our art, because the ads will tell them what our fears and dreams were circa 2006.

“Talladega Nights” opens promisingly with a young Ricky dreaming of driving fast like his transient father, Reese Bobby, played gloriously by the always-welcome Gary Cole. Wayward Reese sticks around long enough to impart an important piece of wisdom: If you’re not first, you’re last.This nonsensical bon mot inspires Ricky to seek glory on the track, which he achieves, becoming the archetype of American masculine dominance. Ricky is an arrogant, ignorant, drawling buffoon. He’s a parody of Republican bad habits and his President Bushlike hubris is his downfall. All sports movies are, of course, underdog stories, and with the help of his estranged father, Ricky learns a valuable lesson: Winning isn’t everything.

What redeems “Talladega Nights,” cementing it as a movie worth the dollar instead of a mercenary promo reel, is the A-list cast. One weak link and the movie would fall into unforgivable mediocrity. As Ricky, Mr. Ferrell probably delivers the most rote performance, and even that is entertaining, as he has the market cornered on loudmouth teddy bears with no sense of spatial relations. Joining him is John C. Reilly, who imbues Ricky’s moronic best friend with a humanity that hilariously complements the broad comedy. Michael Clarke Duncan lends his cheery gravitas in a supporting role, and former-SNL cast member Molly Shannon trills like a banshee in clown makeup in both scenes she’s in as the drunken, overly affectionate spouse of one of the movie’s many villains.

But it is Sacha Baron Cohen, the acclaimed caricaturist of HBO’s “Da Ali G Show” and the upcoming movie “Borat,” playing an openly gay French racing rival, who steals the movie. His performance conjures the great Peter Sellers, as he twists that old comic hat trick — the Gallic accent — into something surprising and tear-inspiring. It seems Mr. Cohen’s talents are constantly underrated.

The movie’s humor trades exclusively in redneck and gay jokes, both reveling in and undermining the aspects of comedy that make blue state elitists and backwater hillbillies squeal with laughter.There’s a pair of gay story lines that flirt with offensiveness, but ultimately they intend to demystify whatever threat homosexuals present to the more traditionally minded.

But there are also moments of bizarre humor, which have long been the secret weapons in Mr. Ferrell’s arsenal, and they are the ones that will sell DVDs by the truckload. For fans of NASCAR (your critic being one of them), the movie’s racing scenes succeed in enticing you to go out to Dover International Speedway and watch some high-performance wheels trade paint.

The question is, will “Talladega Nights” play in the states that prize stock car racing? The answer is it barely matters, because the movie isn’t trying to play to NASCAR fans. It’s aimed squarely at the part of the country that dismisses the sport as chicken-fried chariot racing. The brilliance of the movie is that it aims to charm by mocking the stereotypes that make NASCAR a joke to sports fans who prefer to overlook it. By owning its excesses, the movie subverts them and is able to sell its real allure: the addictive need for speed. Plus earth-shattering ka-booms.


The New York Sun

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