Jackass Number Two

You wouldn’t think it, but deep in the bowels of ‘Jackass Number Two’ lies a profound question regarding the future of film comedy and, more broadly, the progress of human civilisation as we know it: when, if ever, will the sight of a man putting his penis into a tank of adders cease to be funny? ‘Not in our lifetime,’ is Johnny Knoxville and co’s implicit retort by way of this sporadically hilarious assortment of weapons-grade idiocy in which a group of fully grown narcissists risk life and limb in a series of ever more inventive ways. From the simple joy of a spring-loaded boxing glove to the face to the sight of trained simpleton Steve-O jamming a fishhook through his cheek and diving into shark infested waters, there’s definitely three bad stunts for every good one. The group seem to foster a schoolboy obsession for baiting wild animals and, following the sudden death of professional croc-botherer Steve Irwin, Knoxville’s narrow escape from being gored by a dangerously irate bull seems scarily, if almost offensively, prescient.