The Ringer review

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Marry the Farrelly Brothers' anti-PC schtick with the mock-arsehole antics of Johnny Knoxville. Graft on the story of a guy who plays a mentally disabled athlete and you've got a sicko shitstorm that's as funny as it's wrong. Right? Well...

The Ringer takes place firmly in Adam Sandler-Land, with Knoxville gleefully launching himself into the task of inventing his mentally challenged alter-ego: Jackass-style pratfalls and groin kicks, wearing his pants round his ears, splattering himself in rib sauce on a lunch date with Lynn (Katherine Heigl) and rattling out moronic lines like, "I can count to potato!" and "Can I have a piece of your doody?" But when he gets busted, the squeaky speech disappears and Knoxville looks less comfortable with the serious stuff.

Director Blaustein's debut feature is a limp affair: Knoxville is out-acted by his co-stars and the gags are moronic at best. Don't be duped.

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