When the 2006 film Larry The Cable Guy: Health Inspector grossed almost $16 million—good for 2,504th on the all-time box-office list—it was only a matter of time before that "Git-R-Done" feller was handed another starring role in a major motion picture. But instead of finally making the madcap cable-industry comedy he seems destined for, Larry The Cable Guy has instead addressed the issue of our time: war, and what is it good for? Like Paths Of Glory, Apocalypse Now, and Platoon, Delta Farce is a difficult, harrowing work offering little relief or humor. Unlike those movies, though, Delta Farce is supposed to be funny. While a movie about applying the "don't ask, don't tell" policy to the cognitively disabled might sound hilarious on paper, Larry and his cohorts do not exactly git it done.
Larry stars as Larry, a pudgy ne'er-do-well whose improbably sexy girlfriend ends up pregnant by another man, sending him into a deep, minutes-long depression cured only by palling around on the weekend with fellow Army reservists Bill Engvall and DJ Qualls. Unfortunately, there's no room for beer-drinkin' and funny-fartin' tomfoolery in the Armed Forces, and the lovably dim-witted trio soon winds up under the command of the irascible Keith David, who puts them through the obligatory training montage and ships them to Iraq. But after one of many torturously executed plot devices, the dirty quarter-dozen is mistakenly deployed to Mexico—or, more accurately, an unconvincing facsimile where offensive Mexican stereotypes come to life and improbably sexy senoritas are attracted to Larry The Cable Guy.
It's easy to portray Larry as a red-state, blue-collar, salt-of-the-earth phenomenon, and anyone who finds Delta Farce mind-numbingly lame and idiotic as just another stick-in-the-butt snob. But the worst thing about Delta Farce is its overall feeling of contempt—for the filmmaking process, for common decency, and, most despicably, for the audience. Nobody here seems to be trying very hard to make a good movie. Veteran character actors David and Danny Trejo sheepishly provide some entertainment in thankless roles, but for the most part, it's clear that Delta Farce was intended to get as much money as possible out of Blue Collar Comedy fans with the least amount of effort.