Far be it from me to deny the appeal of sliding across the hood of a car and hopping in through an open window; it’s a maneuver scrupulously mimicked by countless syndication-saturated American youths, regardless of state shade. This method of automobile entry, an orange Dodge flying through the air, and the most storied pair of hot pants in modern human history are un-fuck-with-able icons of
Hazzard lore, parts that have taken on greater pop significance than the down-home whole. So wary Dukes
fans—like TV Cooter Ben Jones, who, sight unseen, termed the film a “sleazy insult” on his website—prepare to witness an amazing feat of filmmaking: Shocked and delighted will you be to see
real Hollywood actors and real musicians outperformed by your favorite inanimate objects! Watch smarmy Jackass Johnny Knoxville dominated by his aviator sunglasses! Enjoy hopelessly sweet chickenhead of the sea Jessica Simpson—exuding lacquered fembot hotness—shamed by a pair of shorts! Relish leatherface Burt Reynolds’s capitulation to a bright white suit! And see old Willie Nelson lose out to a cloud of smoke!
Seann William Scott is nearly outdone by his car’s running monologue (vroom, vroom), but with his
amphetamined-ferret mien, he makes idiocy breathtaking. Super Troopers
‘ Kevin Heffernan is the true revelation, though, as the Dukes’ dim-witted pal Sheev. Director Chandrasekhar, a
Broken Lizard vet, flirts with cultural commentary in freeing the Dukes from their hermetic Appalachia, plopping them in an Atlanta traffic jam, where the Confederate-flag-roofed General Lee
is applauded then reviled by passersby, and later introducing the good ol’ boys to—gasp—black people. But then he punks out, bringing the film back to Hazzard County for a lame save-the-farm drive.
Dukes insults not “family values,” as the original Cooter claims, just general intelligence. Yee. Haw.