Casa de Mi Padre Reviews
Ferrell is a good straight actor for the same reason that he's an inspired comedian: He commits himself to every moment. Even in a movie whose highest ambition is to be true to its quaintly delectable tackiness.
Casa de Mi Padre riffs freely on impoverished production values -- phony painted backdrops and the reflection of the camera crew in a DEA agent's sunglasses -- but the humor doesn't only target south of the border.
This is one of those pictures, alas, that is critic-proof merely by dint of the fact that applying any amount of thought to it, superficial, or serious, or what have you, is an entirely humiliating,
Director Matt Piedmont and writer Andrew Steele, veterans of Ferrell and McKay's Funny or Die web site, lack the cinematic chops to mount a big-screen tribute to the genre, but there are some amusing bits.
Ferrell, as he's done in Anchorman, Talladega Nights and Step Brothers, walks undaunted through the amiable absurdity, delivering his not-exactly-mellifluous espanol in earnest flurries, as the dialogue, and the bullets, fly.
I tend to be amused by Ferrell in most circumstances, and the things I like about him - his bizarre sensibilities hidden beneath a mainstream exterior, his unwavering sincerity regardless of his characters' absurdity - are on display here.
A movie of this sort could easily wear out its welcome early. Yet Ferrell and company transform the one joke concept into a surprisingly subtle train of gentle jabs at an entire defunct school of filmmaking.