Me, Myself & Irene

If only Jim Carrey's uninhibited sweet-and-sour insanity was, by itself, enough to carry a movie, it might not matter so much that the plot of the Farrelly Brothers' latest is essentially an undercooked, on-the-run road movie, sustained only by its outrageousness (breast milk gags, anyone?) and Carrey's hammy physical humor. For the most part, Carrey is a riot as a milquetoast Rhode Island state trooper whose bottled aggression spills out in the form of a vulgar, bellicose, sex-mad second personality. His two selves fall for a pretty prisoner (Renée Zellweger) he's transporting, and soon the three of them are on the run from crooked cops and her double-crossing ex-boyfriend. But between generous guffaws found in sketch comedy set pieces that barely fit together, there's nothing to keep this uneven effort from collapsing under its own dead weight. Not a necessary purchase. (R. Blackwelder)