“I wanna go fast!”

NASCAR driver Ricky Bobby (Will Ferrell) has trouble saying or thinking anything other than that simple five-syllable phrase, the sentence almost the only words his tired mother Lucy (Jane Lynch) could ever get him to say. Luckily, Ricky goes really fast really well, his reckless pursuit of both speed and victory catapulting him near the top of his sport’s upper echelon. He’s likable and laidback, fans loving his friendly demeanor and personable approach to racing.

But he’s also selfish, egotistical and arrogant, refusing even to allow devoted best friend and fellow teammate Cal Naughton, Jr. (John C. Reilly) to finish any other place in a race other than behind him. Yet Ricky isn’t invincible, and when his shifty sponsor (Greg Germann) brings aboard a third driver, French Formula One champion Jean Girard (Sacha Baron Cohen), Bobby starts to think he’s not quite as loved – or talented – as he always imagined.

“Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby” is far more innocuous and disarming than Ferrell’s previous hits “Anchorman” or “Elf” could ever have dreamed of being. Thanks to some delicious support from Reilly, Lynch, “Junebug” Oscar-nominee Amy Adams and the spectacularly funny Cohen (who easily walks away with the film before he suddenly disappears), I can even admit to laughing out loud a time or two. Heck, even Ferrell’s nowhere near as annoying and over the top as I usually find him to be, a couple of his scenes (especially one at an Applebee’s) actually fairly hysterical.

Not that any of this means the film is any good. It’s fairly terrible overall, the funniest bit in the entire picture a quote from, of all people, Eleanor Roosevelt talking about America’s fascination with speed right at the very beginning. Otherwise, save for some sparkling diamonds glinting out from underneath some very dark rough, this thing pretty much stinks, even the film’s target audience sure to walk away from it unimpressed and, of all things, bored.

Too bad, because for the first fifteen minutes or so I kind of thought “Talladega Nights” was going to win me over. I just loved an early scene between Ricky and Cal, the former getting into a racecar for the first time; the latter completely unable to hide his energetic enthusiasm. It’s idiotic, but the idiocy is so good-natured and fun I was completely ready to turn off my reservations and relax ready for a good time.

Unfortunately, that good time never materialized. This film is as flat as a splattered bug slamming into the windshield, and even though I laughed a bit more than I ever have in a Ferrell comedy that doesn’t mean a darn thing if I still felt like sprinting out of the theater the moment it ended. The guy just can’t seem to do anything that isn’t loud, obnoxious, overbearing and completely senseless, his in-your-face style of comedic acting not close to my usually favorable cup of proverbial tea.

What’s most shocking, however, isn’t that the jokes fall to pieces or that the humor feels forced, it’s that the racing sequences have to be some of the single most unexciting I’ve ever seen. Even the Sylvester Stallone debacle “Driven,” in all its overdone CGI-excessive ignobility, was a more thrilling foray into auto racing than this is. Why does that matter? Ferrell and company were granted unprecedented access by the good people over at NASCAR for this, and while I’m not about to suggest I wanted “Grand Prix” style visceral intimacy a decent race with some actual you-are-there-like tension would have been nice.

At this point, I’m just about ready to write Ferrell off completely. His comedies are starting to become about as attractive to me as watching David Spade or Rob Schneider. Hopefully, Marc Forster’s “Stranger than Fiction” with Emma Thompson will be just the sort of wake-up call and rejuvenation the actor needs. Unfortunately, we’re going to have to wait until December to find out, which, on the plus side, is just about how long it will probably take to wash the stinky grease stains left by “Talladega Nights” out of our collective movie going consciousness.