Although director Peter Farrelly has gained respect for serious fare such as Green Book and The Greatest Beer Run Ever, one knows what to expect when he indulges his smuttier instincts: a thoroughly dumb story, and relentless raunch.
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| Rod (John Cena, far right) tries hard to ingratiate himself with, from left, Dean (Zac Efron), JT (Andrew Santino) and Wes (Jermaine Fowler). The effort fails, but not to worry; they'll meet again. |
That said, Ricky Stanicky gets plenty of momentum from an audacious and absolutely hilarious performance by star John Cena. He’s a veritable force of motor-mouthed, well-timed comedy, and this film would sink into oblivion without him.
But we don’t meet him right away. Events begin during a prologue on Halloween night 1999, when obnoxious brats Dean, JT and Wes decide to get even with homeowners who have a reputation for not giving out candy. Their prank goes horribly awry, nearly burning down the house in an appalling and thoroughly unfunny sequence that almost torches this film before it has a chance to start.
While fleeing the carnage, the three boys concoct the “alibi” that sets up what is to follow: They write the name “Ricky Stanicky” on a discarded item of clothing, the way a child’s mother would have done, and leave it at the scene. The police therefore focus on trying to find a juvenile delinquent who doesn’t exist.
During the next couple of decades — via an animation montage that serves as title credits — the boys use Ricky as the fall guy for all manner of bad behavior. As they get older, Ricky morphs into a “good friend” employed as a get-together excuse for skipping things Dean, JT and Wes simply don’t want to do.
Cut to the present day, at which point these guys have become the ultimate arrested adolescents. Over time, they’ve developed a thick “bible” of Ricky’s supposed exploits as a wealthy, tree-hugging do-gooder, along with a litany of childhood and adult achievements and ailments.
And yet — as established by this wildly uneven script from Farrelly and seven (!) other hands — Dean (Zac Efron) and JT (Andrew Santino) somehow managed to land high-profile jobs at an investment firm run by Ted Summerhayes (William H. Macy). Dean is blessed with girlfriend Erin (Lex Scott Davis), who hopes to become a respected TV news journalist; JT is married to Susan (Anja Savcic), and they’re expecting their first child.
The cannabis-obsessed Wes (Jermaine Fowler), alas, is at loose ends. His half-hearted efforts to write a children’s book haven’t impressed hard-working boyfriend Keith (Daniel Monks).
All have gathered for a baby shower, to celebrate the impending arrival of JT and Susan’s little bundle of joy. At the last moment, Dean, JT and Wes are pulled away by their good buddy Ricky’s (supposed) cancer flare-up: actually an excuse to party at several Atlantic City casinos, rather than suffer through a dumb baby shower.
(I know. Total jerks, right?)
At one bar, they encounter “Rock Hard” Rod (Cena), a pushy alcoholic entertainer who dresses up as various rock ’n’ roll stars while doing a late-night, X-rated show of lyrics-modified “jerk-off songs” (Michael Jackson’s “Beat It,” anything by The Strokes ... you get the idea).
We ultimately experience a good chunk of Rod’s routine, which sinks like a stone in front of a paltry half-dozen aghast patrons. (In fairness, the performance is supposed to be terrible ... and it truly is.)
Having extracted themselves from Rod’s pushy presence, our three schmucks are about to enjoy themselves further, when Dean chances to glance at his phone ... and sees an increasingly agitated series of messages. Susan has gone into labor, six weeks early ... and the guys aren’t there.
A hasty return plane trip isn’t entirely successful; JT misses his son’s arrival. More to the point, the evasions, excuses and missed phone calls have raised suspicion among everybody assembled in Susan’s hospital room, most notably her mother’s friend Leona (Heather Mitchell). She has long harbored doubts about Ricky’s existence.
Drastic measures are required, particularly after Dean and his buddies promise that Ricky will be present for Baby Whittaker’s bris, just a week away. The lies, finally, are catching up with them.
Wes, bless his heart, favors coming clean. But no; Dean doubles down by insisting they can produce Ricky, by hiring an actor to play the part ... and he just happens to have Rod’s business card in his pocket.
But ... this is the guy they’ll get, to play an intelligent, sophisticated and selfless humanitarian?
Given that Rod’s arrival at the bris ceremony is this film’s best extended sequence, I’ll say no more, except to mention that his repeated insistence, back in the casino — “I’m a good actor!” — proves true. Things get better and better, with an able assist from Jeff Ross, as the jovial Rabbi Greenberg.
And, because this is a crude Peter Farrelly comedy, which can’t go 30 seconds without raunchy references to male genitalia, one hiccup is guaranteed to make male viewers cross their legs.
Alas, from this point forward, Farrelly and his co-writers overplay their hand. Incidental side-bits involving Erin’s lengthily-tressed cousin Carly (Apple Farrelly) — along with an encounter between Dean and Erin’s small dog and a goose — are dumb, bewildering, and don’t even seem to belong in this film.
Matters get even more bizarre during the third act, which pulls Summerhayes and his company into increasingly contrived events.
Oh, and just in passing, Rod apparently stops drinking. Just. Like. That. [Insert sound of fingers snapping.]
Seriously? In our enlightened times? That’s just wrong.
Efron does his best to play a good guy who tries to make the best of bad choices, but he can’t pull it off; we quickly conclude that Erin would be better off without him. Santino’s JT is simply repugnant: a nasty, mean-spirited asshole whose snide remarks further damage this film’s already precarious balance.
Fowler’s Wes, on the other hand, is wholly sympathetic: almost a genuine human being amid the chaos ... even when his literary aspirations take a, um, prurient turn.
While Ricky Stanicky has moments — almost all of them belonging to Cena — it’s far from the gleefully uninhibited idiocy and raunch of Dumb and Dumber or There’s Something About Mary. That said, it’s also better than Farrelly bombs such as The Three Stooges or Dumb and Dumber To.
Which is damning with awfully faint praise.
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