Ricky Stanicky Review: A Defiantly Crass Dose of 90s Nostalgia

In the landscape of modern comedy, Ricky Stanicky stands out as an unapologetic throwback to the raucous, anything-goes raunch-fests of the late 90s and early 2000s. Director Peter Farrelly, who shot to fame alongside brother Bobby with hits like There’s Something About Mary and Dumb and Dumber, reunites with Zac Efron after their recent collaboration on The Greatest Beer Run Ever. This time, however, Farrelly is steering back into his signature brand of provocative, lowbrow humor that made him a comedy powerhouse.

John Cena takes center stage as the eponymous Ricky Stanicky, an imaginary friend-turned-real who becomes the latest evolution of the classic “friend excuse” employed by grown men still desperately clinging to perpetual adolescence.

From the onset, Ricky Stanicky gleefully embraces a barrage of crude, often scatological gags that will either delight or appall viewers. The question is whether Farrelly can recapture the lightning-in-a-bottle spirit that made his early work so beloved, or if this resurrected shtick will seem merely stale and outdated in today’s cultural climate.

The Tangled Web of Ricky Stanicky

At its core, Ricky Stanicky chronicles the exploits of three lifelong friends – Dean (Zac Efron), JT (Andrew Santino), and Wes (Jermaine Fowler) – who have been using an imaginary scapegoat named “Ricky Stanicky” to escape responsibility and accountability since they were young pranksters. What began as a desperate fib to avoid punishment after a Halloween mischief gone awry has snowballed into an elaborate decades-long ruse.

Now full-grown men with relationships, jobs, and adult obligations, the trio still routinely invoke “Ricky” as an excuse to ditch plans with loved ones and indulge in guys’ nights out filled with debauchery. They’ve constructed an entire bible of fabricated backstories about this make-believe character, even creating social media accounts to sell his supposed real-world exploits as a jet-setting do-gooder.

However, their web of lies inevitably begins unraveling when one such hijinks causes JT to miss the birth of his child. Backed into a corner by their furious wives and girlfriends demanding to finally meet the elusive “Ricky,” the guys hatch a desperate plan – hire a down-and-out actor to play the role of their imaginary friend at the baby’s upcoming bris ceremony.

Enter John Cena as Rod, an eccentric, alcoholic entertainer who performs raunchy rock song parodies under the persona “Rock Hard Rod.” Despite his initially pathetic appearance, chugging whiskey in a Britney Spears schoolgirl costume, Rod fully commits to embodying the myth of Ricky Stanicky. What ensues is a chaotic escalation as the fake friend ingratiates himself into every facet of the gang’s lives, much to their consternation.

Crude Humor with a Soft Center

In bringing Ricky Stanicky to life, Peter Farrelly walks a tonal tightrope, attempting to blend raw, boundary-pushing raunchiness with an underlying current of heart and sentimentality. It’s a balance the director has tried to strike throughout his career, from beloved cult classics like There’s Something About Mary to more recent dramatic efforts like Green Book.

On the surface, Ricky Stanicky proudly revels in its lowbrow, grossout comedy roots. Farrelly doesn’t shy away from outrageous shock value gags – an early circumcision scene sets the bar high (or low, depending on one’s perspective) for just how far he’s willing to go. John Cena’s unhinged performance as the faux Ricky leans full-tilt into bizarre, vulgar comedy with inspired improvisational flair.

And yet, tucked beneath the relentless barrage of dick jokes and scatological humor, Farrelly strives to invest genuine emotional stakes in his protagonist’s journey. Dean’s stunted man-child antics are framed as a defense mechanism stemming from childhood trauma. The bonds of brotherhood between the three leads, while immature, contain glimmers of poignancy and tenderness.

It’s an admittedly uneven synthesis at times, with the crass humor often undermining any authentic pathos Farrelly is aiming for. Still, longtime fans will likely find comforting nostalgia in his signature potpourri of gross-out gags and sentimental quirks. Whether it entirely recaptures the magic of his 90s heyday is debatable, but Ricky Stanicky showcases a filmmaker still defiantly waving the freak flag for uncompromising, irreverent comedy.

Standout Turns in an Uneven Ensemble

At the center of Ricky Stanicky’s rollicking madness is an eclectic ensemble, led by the contrasting star power of Zac Efron and John Cena. As the nominal straight man Dean, Efron shoulders much of the dramatic heavy lifting. He imbues his fundamentally unlikable character with flickers of relatable vulnerability, hinting at the personal demons fueling Dean’s petulant behavior. It’s a dependably charismatic performance from the former Disney heartthrob.

However, it’s Cena who utterly steals the show, committing wholeheartedly to the unhinged eccentricities of the fake “Ricky Stanicky” persona. After an unforgettably unorthodox introduction performing raunchy rockstar parodies, Cena pivots seamlessly into creating a fully inhabited character. His work veers from disarmingly tender to outrageously profane, often in the same scene. It’s a tour-de-force of comedic versatility that proves Cena has truly outgrown his humble wrestling roots.

The supporting cast, unfortunately, doesn’t fare quite as well. As Dean’s cohorts JT and Wes, Andrew Santino and Jermaine Fowler turn in rather one-note performances that fail to elevate their relatively underwritten roles. Actresses like Lex Scott Davis and Anja Savcic ably keep up as the film’s put-upon romantic partners, but are ultimately sidelined in service of the central bro-mantic hijinks.

In a smaller but memorable turn, William H. Macy brings delightfully cringeworthy gusto to Dean and JT’s inappropriate boss. His obliviously crude gesticulations provide some of the film’s biggest laugh-out-loud moments. It’s a masterclass is squeamish comedic commitment from the veteran funnyman.

Hitting the Juvenile Jackpot

Ricky Stanicky is, if nothing else, an exercise in shamelessly juvenile humor cranked up to 11. From the opening frames, Farrelly establishes that no bodily fluid or profane contortion will be off-limits in pursuit of easy laughs. It’s a deliriously scattershot approach that will undoubtedly delight those with a puerile funny bone while making others simply feel pummeled into submission.

The loudest comedic swings certainly aren’t the most artful or intelligent. Much of the humor is predicated on repetitive shock value derived from graphic sex acts, watersports, casual homophobia, and other transgressions played for shock value. A protracted sequence built around a bungled circumcision ceremony exemplifies just how far Farrelly is willing to push the envelope of good taste.

And yet, dismissing Ricky Stanicky as mere bottom-of-the-barrel raunch would be reductive. Farrelly’s pedigree for finding sublime hilarity in the profane does occasionally shine through the adolescent proclivities. A running gag involving a boss’s excruciatingly awkward gestures is both gut-bustingly crass and cleverly observed. Such small moments of well-crafted comedic insight are admittedly few and far between, but reminders that Farrelly’s better instincts can transcend sheer vulgarity.

It’s in the central performances where the humor finds its richest vein. As the loveably sleazy Rod/Ricky, John Cena fearlessly commits to every ludicrous affectation and grotesque quirk, imbuing even the most puerile running gags with a strangely compelling charisma. Zac Efron’s relatively straight-laced reactions provide the perfect counterbalance to Cena’s anarchic energy. When the two锘撶grade锘 put their comedic talents on full display, the shockingly profane flourishes seem to land with a bit more subversive punch.

Ultimately though, Ricky Stanicky is indeed an extremely hit-or-miss barrage of pottymouthed gags, naked and unashamed in its desire to illicit reactions ranging from uproarious laughter to disgusted groans. For better or worse, Farrelly has delivered a spiritual rehash of his no-holds-barred 90s comedies, making no apologies for proudly amplifying the id of the American comic tradition.

Boyish Revelry Masking Insecurity

Beneath its crass, no-holds-barred exterior, Ricky Stanicky slyly smuggles in observations about modern masculinity and the perils of perpetual adolescence. At its core, the film is a study of grown men desperately clinging to youth through the power of make-believe and the sanctity of the “bro-mance.”

Dean, JT, and Wes’ pathological aversion to responsibility and commitment is portrayed as both comedic irresponsibility and a deeper insecurity. Their invented friend “Ricky” becomes a symbolic security blanket shielding them from true adulthood. Gender roles and traditional male bravado are frequently sent up, whether through John Cena’s fearless drag performance forays or the cringe comedy of their boss’s unwitting lewd gestures.

At the same time, Farrelly doesn’t seem terribly interested in fully interrogating or satirizing such tropes. The boyish debauchery is very much the punchline, with any deeper commentary getting overshadowed by the next outrageous gag. Female characters are thinly sketched protagonist-motivators or humiliation props rather than fully fleshed out perspectives.

Still, flashes of cultural subversion manage to sneak through the steady barrage of sophomoric comedy. Wes’ casual openness about his homosexuality is treated as refreshingly unremarkable in the grand scheme of things. A character with dwarfism is introduced without cheap heightism jokes. Such small strides toward inclusivity amidst the aggressively juvenile humor suggest Ricky Stanicky may be slightly more thoughtful than it lets on… even if thinking too hard defeats the purpose.

Ricky Stanicky: A Heartfelt But Extremely Crass Reunion

As both a celebration and cautionary tale about the arrested development of the modern male psyche, Ricky Stanicky represents a homecoming of sorts for Peter Farrelly. The filmmaker’s bawdy return to his raunchy comedy roots after a detour into prestige dramedy recaptures flashes of the anarchic, anything-goes spirit that made him a vanguard of 90s gross-out humor. And yet, the movie’s eagerness to push boundaries of taste and decency often undercuts its flashes of surprisingly soulful insight.

John Cena’s wholeheartedly unhinged performance as the fake “Ricky Stanicky” is a tour-de-force that instantly etches itself into the pantheon of iconic vulgar movie comedians. He’s matched beat-for-beat by the wry charisma of Zac Efron navigating the film’s tonal shifts between lowbrow depravity and sincere poignancy. As with Farrelly’s classics though, the supporting players around them struggle to make as lasting an impact amidst the overabundance of dick jokes and uncomfortable circumcision humor.

Speaking of that cringe humor, Ricky Stanicky is absolutely not for the faint of heart or easily offended. Farrelly revels in subjecting audiences to a gauntlet of bodily fluid gags, lewd gestures, and shockingly un-PC humor that will alternately delight its target bro-audience and disgust pretty much everyone else. It’s the very essence of a “lov? it or hate it” moviegoing experience that pulls no punches; a nostalgic resuscitation of an uncensored comedic ethos from a seemingly more permissive era.

And therein lies the rub – Ricky Stanicky begs the question of whether such aggressive vulgarity still has a place in 2023’s cultural climate. What once felt subversive and taboo-shattering in Farrelly’s 90s heyday runs the risk of coming across as merely puerile and dated to modern sensibilities. The movie’s flashes of sly social commentary about masculinity and gender politics get drowned out by the sheer volume of gross-out antics.

Longtime fans of Farrelly’s signature man-child comedies will undoubtedly be thrilled by this deliriously uncompromising return to form. Casual viewers would be better served revisiting bona fide classics like There’s Something About Mary or Kingpin though.

As for this grizzled critic, I can admire Ricky Stanicky’s willingness to valiantly resuscitate a bygone comedic ethos, even if it loses its battle against evolving societal tastemakers. Farrelly has crafted a movie actively daring you to be offended at every turn; a profane poke in the eye to our era of carefully manicured inoffensiveness that will endure as a fascinating cultural relic if nothing else.

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