There are many aspects to The Ringer which are annoyingly predictable. But beneath this predictable surface, its treatment of issues surrounding disability is admirable, if not reasonably sophisticated. In the same way, we can write off The Ringer as just another predictable film about an adolescent man-child, hooking up with a woman who's out of his league and being offensive along the way. But it is just as possible to view it as a modern-day Waiting for Godot, exploring as it does the existential angst of two lonely men with no discernable purpose or special qualities. It is, of course, perfectly easy to view Bottom as just an endless string of knob gags and rude words. But in both instances, the toilet humour can be regarded as superficial, a way-in for the mainstream to explore issues which would not be raised so aptly in lesser productions. Both Mayall and the Farrellys have aspects of their ouevre which appear outwardly to be puerile, adolescent and stupid - Bottom being the clearest example in the former case.

It's fitting, albeit in an unfortunate way, that I should be reviewing this film so soon after the tragic death of Rik Mayall. These include: the lengths to which men go to be with women, how childhood trauma impacts on people in adult life, and the social status of people with disabilities. It's shot and constructed in a very similar manner to the Farrellys' own directorial efforts, and nods towards many of the themes and motifs which are explored in the likes of Dumb and Dumber or There's Something About Mary. Blaustein, The Ringer is at heart a Farrelly Brothers project. But when given the chance to show what it can do, it is surprising and genuinely touching. From any angle it's not a great film, just as you wouldn't expect any of the individuals it showcases to be great athletes. Like Remi Bezançon's debut from six years ago, there are a lot of aspects to its surface which could cause any sensible film fan to write it off. I find myself in a similar predicament with The Ringer. I hinted at this in my review of The First Day of the Rest of Your Life, arguing that sometimes it is best to go in completely cold. The more one learns about a given medium or art form, the more one risks falling into cynicism, focussing solely on the conventions and limitations of said form until the only surprises in life are the crushing disappointments.

As a film enthusiast, you're always looking to be surprised.

The ringer