So I caught both "Run, Fatboy, Run" and the flu the other day, and I wouldn't recommend either of them. The flu at least was unpredictable, sending chills up and down my spine. The same can't be said for "Run, Fatboy, Run," an unforgivably dull romantic-comedy-slash-Nike-ad about an inert loser who decides to sabotage his ex-girlfriend's happiness by trying to re-win her heart. Now, I say "unforgivably" because siccing the subversive talents of smug VH1 talking head Michael Ian Black (also part of the "Stella" troupe) and the ever-clever Simon Pegg ("Hot Fuzz") on the routine chick flick should have yielded something more. And I say "dull" because even the flu was funnier.

The London-set "Run, Fatboy, Run" stars the endearing (and not fat, incidentally) Pegg as Dennis, who we meet as he's sprinting away from his imminent nuptials to pregnant girlfriend Libby (a wasted Thandie Newton from "Crash"). Flash forward five years and Dennis is still wallowing as he divides his time between his job guarding lingerie, his adorable son, and his penchant for screwing things up. A proverbial fire gets lit under Dennis's proverbial ass in the form of Whit (Hank Azaria, so beyond this), an ambitious American successfully wooing Libby, much to Dennis's selfish dismay.

Dennis's best mate, the oft-pantless Gordon (Irish comic Dylan Moran is the deadpan highlight of this movie), helps Dennis realize that he abandoned Libby because he felt he wasn't good enough for her, so naturally we're supposed to hate Whit and root for Dennis. Why, exactly? Damned if I know, as the uninspired script by co-writers Black and Pegg makes Whit seem pretty likeable, until he's conveniently not. The escalating just-whip-‘em-out-already between Dennis and Whit culminates with a marathon along the Thames, participation in which Dennis believes will prove to Libby that he's a changed man. Then some people learn some stuff, and bludgeon-esque running symbolism ensues.

It would be wrong to blame David Schwimmer for this mediocrity, though not as random as it might sound. "Run, Fatboy, Run" is the first film directed by the former star of "Friends," and he does a decent job with the surprising parade of clichés served up by the Black-Pegg alliance. And while there are a couple of memorable sight gags - seriously, who doesn't love a good trashcan lid to the face? - "Run, Fatboy, Run," originally scheduled for release last fall, looks as though ignorant test audiences had their way with it, dumbing it down so that moviegoers would leave happy, knuckles a-dragging. Now, maybe you're thinking, "Well, she's in the throes of fever; of course she didn't enjoy it." A valid point, but I'm not too delirious to recognize a lazy "Rocky" paradomage (that's parody + homage) when I see it.

It's 1972 Los Angeles, and a clueless suburban housewife is trying to cope with her burgeoning freedom in "Viva," Anna Biller's sly satire of the sexploitation genre. Writer-director-editor-producer-designer Biller also rocks endless polyester as Barbi, who tumbles down the rabbit hole of drugs and sex after a tiff with her lunkheaded husband leads to a "Belle de Jour"-like moneymaking opportunity. But her newfound liberation still crawls with predators, and instead of chasing her around the desk at work, they're dosing her pink drinks. Even the hippies want only one thing from her, and it's not peace.

I took in the awesome new frock flick from French boat-rocker Catherine Breillat just before I watched "Viva," and I was struck by their wildly differing paths to the same destination. Where Breillat's commentaries on the patriarchal nature of sex are direct and unnerving, Biller's campy delivery is infinitely more subliminal. Her eye-candy attention to detail and purposely awful acting could easily outshine her message but they also guarantee a "Beyond the Valley of the Dolls"-level cult status that should keep her work in the collective conscience.

Anna Biller will be at the Dryden on Saturday to present "Viva," as well as her short film "A Visit from the Incubus," in which a saloon singer learns that the terrifying demon haunting her slumber is nothing more than the ultra-catty spawn of Al Jolson and Paul Lynde. 

Run, Fatboy, Run

(PG-13), directed by David Schwimmer

Now playing

Viva

(NR), directed by Anna Biller

Shows Saturday at the Dryden