Odd, low-rent but strangely amiable

You often get the feeling in British comedy that the spirit of George Formby is lurking somewhere in the background. So with cries of 'Oooh, mother' and an unsureness about what to do with women, here's David Baker's amiably odd low-rent tale of Scots actors all at sea in Las Vegas.

Strapping together a bit of Withnail-style depravity with a senseless heist plot that our gap-toothed ukulele-player would recognise, Baker triumphs. Although the writing and directing of every crucial scene is muffed. This is because he persistently sticks to his big idea - Brits only look stupid when they start aping the behaviour of crappy US films.

Verdict: Deep-fried.