For years John Waters has got by on a bucket-load of charm, more than making up for the cinematic deficiencies of his signature cocktail of high camp and bad taste. He had a great run in the 1980s and 90s, with Hairspray, Cry-Baby and Serial Mom - but, sad to say, almost all the qualities that made those movies so wonderful have deserted him in this one.

America's holier-than-thou cult of chastity is Waters' target here: Tracey Ullman plays a grumpy housewife who turns into a sex addict after being hit on the head and Johnny Knoxville (proving once again that life after Jackass is going to be very difficult) is her satanic, fire-breathing tempter. Part of Waters's problem is that the casting just doesn't work - Ullman isn't remotely engaging enough, and Knoxville is plain awful - but mostly it's that the gags that probably made everyone laugh on the page fall thuddingly flat, one after the other, on screen.