So while the film overall is no real victory on any level, its shameless pandering and eagerness-to-crowd-please make it hard to decry with any enthusiasm. I mean, in the end, how can you really hate a film that repeatedly goes for laughs by having a wheelchair-bound Rip Torn abruptly throwing wrenches at people's faces – and hitting them squarely each time? Ben Stiller adopts Ben Stiller Mode No. 2 (of two), not the frustrated nebbish here but rather the pumped-up freak whose "weird" hostility does not mask his more obvious insecurity (in one scene, he is caught jerking off into a slice of pizza). Would-be fitness guru Ben wants to take over slacker Vince Vaughn's ineptly-managed but lovable gym, and for whatever reason, the rivalry needs to be settled by having them face off in the national dodgeball championship. Vaughn is his usual vaguely-unlikeable self, but with a couple additional layers of catatonic apathy so it's clear to everyone he could care less about being in the movie. Ben's real-life wife Christine Taylor is pretty good as the accountant who starts falling for Vince while fending off Ben's slimy advances; though I have still not really let go of the fact that her entrée to fame came solely from her resemblance to Maureen McCormick. The requisite Bad News Bears-style ragtag-team-gets-whipped-into-winning-shape hijinks occur, along with some extremely overbaked jokes about ESPN (Gary Cole and Jason Bateman feature as sportscasters, and that gets old within three seconds). Several "hilarious" cameos (Shatner, Chuck Norris, Lance Armstrong) transpire. Though nothing about Dodgeball was the least bit clever, I did chuckle a few times and overall did not hate it. I can see why it was the top-grossing comedy of the year … because most people are pretty goddamn dumb.
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