Dirty Sanchez: The Movie review

“I’ve got an idea,” says Dainton at the start of this MTV UK spin-off. “We up the ante!” Encouraging words, those; they should be the mission statement of every tellybox-to-multiplex transfer. Trouble is, after three seasons of nude paintballing, pube-topped pizza-eating and man-sac mousetrapping, where do you go? Out of the Valleys, for starters. Thus, taking season three’s European Invasion to the next level, our four masochists globe-trot from Wales to Russia, Thailand, Japan and beyond.

In bodily terms, though, most of the stunts stay firmly south of the equator, whether we’re talking ‘spunky dunkies’, games of guess-the-ladyboy or the hanging of kettles on cocks. The ‘Seven Deadly Sins’ angle allows for a semblance of structure, but it’s essentially an excuse to spill bodily fluids too sticky for TV. And spill they do, in such quantity that most viewers will feel soiled.

In a way, a film like this is firewalled against flak, converting brickbats into badges of honour. Depraved? Degrading? That’s the point, boyo. Still, there’s one charge that proves harder to shrug off: the sense we’ve seen all this done before, and better, by Steve-O and co. Not only was Jackass: The Movie more inventive and surreal, it had Johnny Knoxville, who’s got more charisma in his cuticles than these grubby gits put together.

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It’s hardly saying much, but the least objectionable member of Team Sanchez is probably Pancho, a pintsized plank who’s abused whenever he snoozes. Yet, like much of the between-skit banter, the scenes of the wee man being painted green or having his nostrils glued seem contrived: not a good thing in a movie whose USP is that all the pain and shame is 4 Real.

Nonetheless, you will wince, flinch and gag – as will those around you, this being a film best enjoyed/endured with an audience. Neither big, clever, nor funny, it does elicit a train-wreck fascination at what some people will do for their 15 minutes of infamy.