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Ferrell is back in the winner's circle with 'Talladega Nights'

As NASCAR racer Ricky Bobby, Will Ferrell is swollen with mock bravado and clueless self-regard. His delusions of grandeur are leavened by genuine good ol' boy charm and a pinch of backwoods ignorance that's reflected in those beady, slightly glazed eyes. He likes women, beer, fast food and, above all, speed, as in his redneck mantra "I wanna go fast!" Also — and this is sublimely Ferrellesque — he has an unaccountable inclination to strip to his tightie-whities and flounder idiotically around the race track, arms flapping and tummy blubber jiggling.

Sony Pictures Releasing 'Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby' 3 out of 5 stars The verdict: Will Ferrell revs up NASCAR satire with as many bits of humor as he can cram in a two-hour ride around the track Director: Adam McKay Starring: Will Ferrell, Sacha Baron Cohen, John C. Reilly, Michael Clarke Duncan, Amy Adams Run time: 105 minutes Release date: August 4, 2006 Rating: PG-13 for crude and sexual humor, language, drug references and brief comic violence. See showtimes On the backlot •  Will Ferrell says he honed his comedy in elementary school. •  Product placements linger long after the credits roll. On the web Official movie site View the trailer    Trailers require Quicktime Rate 'Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby'   Go see it   Make it a matinee   Wait to rent   Don't bother Voter Limit: Once per Hour View Poll Results

In other words, after duds "Bewitched" and "Kicking and Screaming," Ferrell is back to absurdly inspired man-child form in "Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby." If the movie is ragged around the edges and visually pedestrian — except for some impressive computer-aided car crashes — that's the price of making a comedy out of anarchic spontaneity, throwing in every twisted bit of business (see the knife in leg scene) and improvised zinger (watch Ferrell say grace) with the fevered lunacy of the Marx Brothers. For a comedy that milks every moment for laughs, it's a miracle that it holds together as well as it does.

Co-written by Ferrell with director Adam McKay, this custom-made Ferrell vehicle (pun unavoidable), set in the both alien and massively popular NASCAR world, is a loving parody of every inspirational sports movie, complete with the climb to glory, the tragic fall, the arduous comeback and the feel-good swell of victory and redemption. Its closest model looks to be "Heart Like a Wheel," the 1983, against-all-odds biopic of drag racer Shirley Muldowney (which happens to get its DVD release Aug. 15).

But, like the television news spoof "Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy," also co-written and directed by McKay, this Ferrell comedy is very careful not to mock the milieu it crashes. It's broad but never mean, gently playing up the more blatant stereotypes, though never using them as a weapon against the culture. With nimble sidesteps, the movie neither ridicules nor glamorizes the NASCAR world, but tickles it with a feather just enough so it can laugh at itself. Two of the film's executive producers work for the National Association for Stock Car Auto Racing, so it's even NASCAR-approved.

A simple fella raised in North Carolina, Ricky Bobby embodies the familiar Ferrell persona of the cocky naif, who always seems to be several paces behind reality. He's surrounded by a funny band of character types, particularly his loyal racing mate Cal (John C. Reilly, who enjoys a rollicking chemistry with Ferrell), crew chief Lucius (Michael Clarke Duncan), wastrel father (Gary Cole) and his two sons, hilariously belligerent, trash-talking brats named Walker (Houston Tumlin) and Texas Ranger (Grayson Russell).

But it's the arrival of French racer Jean Girard, played to the caricatured hilt by mimetic genius Sacha Baron Cohen, that sets things in wiggy motion. Girard wants to steal Bobby's No. 1 title as a slap at both Bobby and American pomposity. Presenting a greasy, effete Frenchman who is also demonstrably gay — he makes out with his lover, played by Andy Richter — the filmmakers are riffing on a presumed strain of red-state animus toward the French and homosexuals. The point is not only to mock American xenophobia, but also to mock the absurdity of Francophobia and homophobia by sticking it in viewers' faces, bending ignorant stereotypes until they break.

It's obvious "Talladega Nights" was conceived by smart city boys who are both alarmed and fascinated by the pastime of watching garishly painted cars go real fast in circles. Their befuddlement finds mild satirical voice in small details — a cherished Crystal Gayle T-shirt, a hankering for Applebee's, chewy Southern accents and rife grammatical violence — with which they cram the movie to harmlessly amusing effect.

Bright and broad and set in a daft universe of its own design, "Talladega Nights" plays like a sunny, fatuous cartoon. The emotions are ersatz, the melodrama purely mock. The inevitable upbeat ending reveals a big heart, but it's papier-mâché. You're foolish if you fall for it, and yet the movie's facile goodwill means you probably will, and that's OK, too.