Happy Hour (also known as Sour Grapes) is the very rare example of a comedy that made me sad — not because it was irredeemably terrible, but rather because it consistently made me laugh. This was especially surprising because I went into it with extremely low expectations. When a film’s biggest names include Jamie Farr, Rich Little, Eddie Deezen and Tawny Kitaen, it’s hard not to brace for the worst.

But, in this case, the worst never happens. Instead, the movie finds the same strange balance between absurdist buffoonery and prescient satire also seen in the underrated Killer Tomatoes franchise, which isn’t a coincidence since Happy Hour was writer/director John De Bello’s sophomore effort following the cult success of 1978’s infamous Attack of the Killer Tomatoes.

Recognizable TV character actor Richard Gilliland stars as a chemist who accidentally discovers an additive that makes Marshall Beer dangerously addictive. The promotion that results enrages his lab partner/ex-girlfriend, prompting her to steal half of the formula and take it to Marshall’s largest competitor. Little, who limits himself to just one (terrible) Cary Grant impression, is the James Bond-like spy hired to steal the formula from Marshall, while sleazy scumbag Farr and his psycho partner Kitaen (in a clear bit of typecasting) are tasked to steal the formula from Marshall’s competition.

While the movie has its share of clumsy moments (more the result of budget than anything else), Happy Hour is far funnier than it has any right to be, which makes the fact that De Bello is now working in advertising instead of still making features the cause of my post-credits melancholy. There’s no one who can’t tell me he shouldn’t have been at least as prolific as Dennis Fucking Dugan. —Allan Mott

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What do you get when you take most of the cast of Jackass franchise, but remove Johnny Knoxville, Spike Jonze, Jeff Tremaine and the backing of MTV and Paramount Pictures from the equation? Absolutely zero laughs, judging by National Lampoon’s TV: The Movie.

Partly written and produced by Preston Lacy, who’s like Chris Farley minus comedic timing, TV: The Movie also stars his fellow Jackass asses Steve-O, Jason “Wee Man” Acuña, Chris Pontius and Ehren McGhehey, plus real actors Clifton Collins Jr., Lee Majors, Judd Nelson, Tony Cox, Danny Trejo and Ian Somerhalder, all of whom I’m going to just assume were bribed.

The Kentucky Fried Movie wannabe presents one unfunny sketch after another, with a mix of show and commercial parodies. Among the “targets” are Cops, Fear Factor, Miami Vice, Desperate Housewives and Girls Gone Wild. Among the elements used often to spoof such things: purported jokes built upon drugs, masturbation, homophobia and the word “motherfucker.”

I’m on record admitting to laughing a few times at another recent Lampoon loser, National Lampoon’s Dirty Movie, which plays like Billy Wilder by comparison. At one point, my DVD player kicked out this disc because of a damaged section, which I should’ve taken as a sign. Even technology hates worthless shit. If you find it funny, you’re likely high or living off Jackass royalties, in which case you’re likely high. —Rod Lott

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Recently I watched the Australian superhero satire The Return of Captain Invincible. I mention this because it happened to be an unfunny comedy that suddenly and inexplicably turned into a terrible musical 20 minutes into its running time, so when I was 15 minutes into Saturday the 14th Strikes Back and the peroxide blonde vampiress who looked just like an ’80s New Wave porn star started singing about how much she misses vegetables, I was hit by a profound case of the what-the-fucks.

Luckily, this scene turned out to be an aberration, and none of the other characters felt compelled to burst out into song over the hour that remained until the movie limped along to its merciful conclusion, but the constant threat that they might at least managed to inspire the kind of tension the rest of Strikes Back sorely lacked.

Written and directed by Howard R. Cohen, the auteur also responsible for the original Saturday the 14th, Strikes Back was clearly made for a young audience, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that it is neither funny nor scary. The cast is game and there are some potentially amusing surreal touches (such as the mother’s strange aversion to serving healthy foods), but they are all so poorly timed and executed that none of them stick.

It doesn’t help that the film includes several shots from Allan Arkush’s Rock ‘n’ Roll High School during its inexplicable climax, painfully reminding you of a much better way you could have spent the previous 80 minutes of your life. —Allan Mott

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No movie ever should start with Eddie Deezen driving a pink jalopy, Tom Bosley wearing a cowboy hat, and/or three blondes with a burning need to urinate. (It’s in Cahiers du Cinéma. Look it up.) That’s Million Dollar Mystery in a nutshell — emphasis on the “nut,” waka waka waka! When people say, “You couldn’t pay me a million dollars to see that,” they mean this legendarily lethal Dino De Laurentiis/Glad Bag sinkhole, which offered viewers a chance to win just that with admission. It grossed $989,033. Oh, well!

At a roadside diner, Bosley keels over after eating chili, but not before telling fellow eaters that he’s hidden $4 million among four places, and it’s theirs if they can find it. Joining in this madcap rush for cash are Deezen, comedian Rick Overton, Playboy Playmate Penny Baker and no one else famous. At least they got Bill Murray to appear the mentally unstable Vietnam vet, Slaughter Buzzárd. Oh, my bad — they couldn’t afford him. That’s Rich Hall, he of “Sniglets” fame.

Like It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World; Scavenger Hunt; or Rat Race, it’s a cast-crowded, cross-country, comedic chase, wherein greed gets the best of everyone involved. Unlike It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World; Scavenger Hunt; or Rat Race, it has not one genuine laugh. In fact — spoiler alert! — it’s fucking stupid. It gave my DVD player an extra chromosome.

Sadly, this was the last film of director Richard Fleischer (Fantastic Voyage) and stuntman Dar Robinson; the latter actually died for this junk. To add insult to injury, the filmmakers dedicate the work to him — but in quotes, as if insincere — while “comedy” duo Mack & Jamie, two of the least funny people on the planet, improv. The only thing more embarrassing is Kevin Pollak’s constant, cringe-worthy celebrity impressions. Scratch that: Worse is that this represents proof I watched the damn thing. —Rod Lott

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Based on its title and its inclusion of Revenge of the Nerds’ Donald “Ogre” Gibb in its cast of protagonists, you might think that Jocks represents an attempt to subvert the ’80s teen-comedy genre by making heroes out of the characters who were typically portrayed as villains in these films.

It doesn’t. Yes, its main characters just happen to be a group of asshole athletes, but they’re a group of poor misfit asshole athletes who like to party and have a good time, and their program faces cancellation if they can’t beat the group of rich douchebag asshole athletes who only care about winning at any cost.

Our nominal hero here is “The Kid” (Scott Strader), who’s supposed to be a wildly charismatic party animal, but more closely resembles a crude, lazy, narcissistic prick with severe emotional problems. We’re led to believe he’s the glue required to keep his ragtag tennis team on their improbable winning streak, but all we actually see him do is take them out to a series of increasingly sleazier bars. At some point, future Emmy/Golden Globe-winner Mariska Hargitay shows up in order to be his love interest, but you’ll be too pre-occupied trying to figure out if she’s had any plastic surgery between then and now to notice how superfluous her character actually is.

That said, if you’re on the lookout for a desperately unfunny comedy that features a lot of poorly shot tennis; really bad acting; slumming guest stars on the level of Christopher Lee, Richard Roundtree and R.G. Armstrong; and some very dated and offensive gay jokes, you probably could still do better than Jocks. I’ll let you know if I find anything. —Allan Mott

Buy it at Amazon.