Joining the back of the fairly long and not especially resplendent line of named-after-their-lead-character-and-the-job-they-do movies like Paul Blart: Mall Cop and Anchorman: The Legend of Ron BurgundyLarry Gaye: Renegade Male Flight Attendant does its best to stretch half an hour's comedy out into a full length feature in the mold of the great Zucker-Abrahams-Zucker stable. Predictably, it's less Airplane! and more Scary Movie 3.

Mark Feuerstein is the titular hero, an obnoxious lothario with Frank Drebin-levels of self-delusion. Larry is apparently the greatest flight attendant in the sky, with a Zen-like ability to solve extremely flight attendant-specific problems. When his profession is threatened by the introduction of cybernetic substitutes and his life turned upside down by the appearance of a son he never knew he had, Larry is forced to save the day while (kind of) learning some important life lessons.

Feuerstein gamely manages to hold the straight face required, but unlike Leslie Nielson (or even Charlie Sheen) his Larry isn't in any way charming or sweet. In fact he's an annoying, shallow jackass. It's not easy to cheer for someone whose most redeeming feature is a striking resemblance to James Blunt. Scenes are quoted almost verbatim from Hot Shots! and Airplane!, including one featuring a little too on-the-nose cameo from Julie Hagerty, and trotting out her most famous film’s most famous line. 

More understandably, maintaining the laugh rate necessary for a successful spoof proves beyond director Sam Friedlander, who repeatedly falls back on cheap ‘Gaye’ jokes. Throughout, the movie falls between two cramped aisles – it's neither fast-paced enough for pure spoof nor serious enough for comedy drama.

On the flipside, it by no means wallows in the slop of recent abominations like Epic Movie. The general cheapness of the material and sickbag-thin plot is leavened by a barely-credible supporting cast – what the hell were Marcia Gay Harden, Stanley Tucci, Jason Alexander, Henry Winkler and Bob Gunton thinking? – and it does generate a few decent giggles along the way, amongst the misogyny and vague homophobia. Only during an ill-judged closing song and dance sequence does it cross into the truly eye-grating. 

Larry is a tool, and I'd very happily never meet him again. But we’re closer to Ron Burgundy than Paul Blart. Just.