Michael Fairbanks
In 2006 you were either a Cars or Talladega Nights kid. I was the latter. My parents always took me to see the PG-13 manchild comedies of this era since they were over going to the kids movies pretty early on. They were a bit horrified by what I was hearing and yet, we were there. Ricky Bobby was an outright event in my home. My mother had sworn up and down that she’d never allow me to see another Will Farrell movie after bringing me to Anchorman at the ripe age of eight but since I had crossed double digits in 2006, she relented. Thank god she did. Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby has been a lifelong favorite. The satire of Bush-era American machismo might’ve flown right over my head (I lived in Florida until ‘07, so it didn’t even register as parody) but nearly every joke made me laugh. It’s a film so deeply ingrained in my mind that I can remember how entire scenes and exchanges sound verbatim if I close my eyes. Perhaps in pursuit of cultivating a more adult pallet, it’s been some time since I revisited it aside from one viewing in 2021. The chance to slip into my ten-year-old brain and catch this on the big screen again was a no-brainer, especially now that I can unpack McKay’s intentions.
Ricky Bobby is without question my favorite Will Farrell performance. Sometimes in his Capital-C comedy roles he can go a bit too cartoonish. It reaches a point where the film feels like it doesn’t take place on planet earth. Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby doesn’t exactly test Farrell’s dramatic chops a la Stranger Than Fiction but it does allow him to craft a persona that is somewhat grounded. In the first act, Ricky transforms from a shy country boy into a cocky racing champion whose entire life is built around his brand. He cannot even say grace at the table without invoking his contractually obligated mention of Powerade. Even so, beyond a southern drawl, Farrell’s performance isn’t that far removed from the brash athletes who shout soundbites into an ESPN mic while soaring on a runner’s high. The conviction with which Farrell delivers barbs like “if you ain’t first, you’re last” or “I wake up in the morning and piss excellence” make Ricky’s eventual egodeath even funnier.
That reckoning comes at the hands of Sacha Baron Cohen’s French Formula One driver Jean Girard. This stunt queen inspires hysteria within Ricky’s myopic world immediately upon his arrival, in no small part due to his queerness. Since Talladega Nights takes place entirely from Ricky’s perspective, it would be easy to take the characters’ repeated disgusted reactions to Jean and his husband Gregory (Andy Richter) as the film being homophobic. McKay certainly presents this humor in a way that is easy for people with those viewpoints to laugh at. However, when you look closer, nothing that Jean and Gregory do on screen is depicted as grotesque in itself. They frolic in their idyllic home, train German shepherds, and share passionate kisses. They’re being normal, the country bumpkins are not. Sacha Baron Cohen leans into stereotypes with his ridiculous French “acc-conte” but he plays these queer moments with complete sincerity. It’s hard to revisit Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby and not at least in part root for Jean. An innovator in a bigoted business who can win the respect of 2006 American sports broadcasters. No small feat.
When Ron Burgundy suffers his downfall at the end of Anchorman’s second act, it’s hard to give a shit. He’s a misogynist prick and McKay is really only interested in redeeming him because a comedy of that era could not end with the protagonist losing everything. Ricky Bobby’s arc has much more pathos. After he loses to Jean and suffers a psychotic break starting with the iconic “I’m on fire” underwear run, he moves back in with his mother (Jane Lynch, unrecognizable and completely authentic as a country granny) and reconnects with his absentee father Reese (Gary Cole). You see, Reese’s sleaziness and arrogance is at the root of Ricky’s pain. “If you ain’t first, you’re last” was a line he dropped to teenage Ricky when he was high on cocaine during career day. This young boy was so desperate for a father that he crafted his whole life around this drug fueled tirade. Reese’s attempts to mend this relationship with his son by putting him through a number of dangerous driving drills are oddly sweet. Ricky has to find it within himself to care about others and accept his father for who he is before reclaiming his former glory. Yes, these relationships are absurd and crude, but McKay takes them seriously within that framework.
On that note, I’d be remiss not to shower John C. Reilly with praise for his performance as Ricky’s best friend Cal Naughton Jr. Cal is a perpetual second banana who pretends to be perfectly happy with that status until he’s presented with the opportunity to put himself first. Reilly, a dramatic actor discovering a new side of himself in real time, is entirely lovable in the role. Ricky is such a jerk to him that by the time Cal is seduced by Ricky’s wife Carley (Leslie Bibb) and over the course of a few hours proposes to her, we can’t help but think “good for you, buddy.” Farrell and Reilly bounce off each other with a childlike ease. It’s not manufactured camaraderie. These two are genuinely having a blast trying to out-dumb each other while still conveying that Ricky and Cal’s bond is based in something real.
A number of supporting players also score huge laughs. The late Michael Clarke Duncan plays pit crew head Lucius as if he’s in the running for Best Supporting Actor. No other actor could’ve brought the sheer rage to “DON’T YOU PUT THAT EVIL ON ME RICKY BOBBY” that he does in response to Ricky’s attempt to curse his children for pointing out that he is psychosomatically pretending to be in a wheelchair. Amy Adams has a hysterical spin on the “woman with glasses and tied up hair who is secretly hot” troupe. Her Susan hides in the background of the film’s first act only to re-appear right as Ricky is about to race Girard again. Ecstatic to finally get a chance to get with him, she launches into two completely over the top monologues about Ricky’s mythological status delivered with Shakespearean conviction. SNL’s Molly Shannon is a pure mess as the bored wife of the race team owner. 30 Rock’s Jack McBrayer gets just enough weird childish asides as pit crew member Glenn. McKay has perfect instincts for which characters work best sprinkled in vs who can actually deliver the story’s important beats.
Naturally, not all of it has aged well. There are two instances where a punchline hinges on “we said the R-Word!” There’s a lot of weird stuff with Carley. We are meant to chuckle at Ricky thinking “please be 18” when she flashes him in the winner’s circle, a bit too creepy. There’s an egregious third act joke about her being unconscious every time she and Cal have sex that sent an ice cold chill through my otherwise enthused audience. Enough of Talladega Nights’ humor holds up to a modern perspective to make the handful of slips feel all the more frustrating. Smart people crafted these jokes, which goes to show that even top talents can be shortsighted and tasteless when caught up in the current zeitgeist.
Warts and all, Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby has cemented itself as a part of my permanent comfort movie rotation. It is, in my view, the creative peak of the now wilted Farrell/McKay partnership (Step Brothers and The Other Guys are fine). They each feel astray without each other. Farrell cannot find a leading man vehicle to save his life and won’t take on dramatic work. McKay has become too self important, turning in one jokey civics lecture after another in his pursuit of prestige. While I cannot speak to whatever their personal issues are/were, I do hope that they reunite at some point. Perhaps they’ll do it in time for Ricky and Cal to do a couple laps in golf carts around a retirement home’s course.
Many would argue that I outright shouldn’t have been watching Talladega Nights at ten years old. It’s understandable, but I do think it had a positive impact. Even within this very silly context, it’s a story that teaches the importance of failure in one’s life. No matter how talented one is at the thing they love most, there will always come a point where you crash and burn. Ricky showed me that even though you may look like a fool throughout the journey, you can still re-discover what matters most and define yourself by who you are now. That is in essence the same message that all of the Cars kids received, so we’ll count it as an unlikely parenting win for mom and dad.
