The first thing people ask me about Talladega Nights is, “is it as funny as Anchorman?” The short answer: No. Anchorman had a much stronger supporting cast, boasting names from Paul Rudd to Steve Carell to Tim Robbins. Talladega Nights is far more insular. It’s Will Ferrell’s ride all the way, and his brand of comedy is an esoteric one. He is not now, nor do I think he ever will be, a leading man.

It’s clear that this cluster of directors, actors, and writers are no longer creating films for a large audience. More and more they make movies for themselves, and ask us to join in. The formula is most clearly evident in Steve Carell’s Brick character in Anchorman: ridiculous statements juxtaposed with sweetly sincere people who are also functionally retarded. Everyone’s absurd, in word and deed; the joke is that we know it and they don’t. The joke only has so much mileage.

Ricky Bobby (Will Ferrell) is a NASCAR driver. He’s the best of the best. The movie’s tagline proudly proclaims, the man can only count to #1. He’s married the first groupie to flash him. He lets his kids do whatever they want. His best friend and racing teammate Cal Naughton (John C. Reilly) has perfected a move called the “slingshot”; Cal sacrifices a win to get Ricky into first. It’s a dynasty built on unknowing selfishness. Naturally, it can’t last. Naturally, Ricky will learn What’s Really Important when he makes his comeback and races his nemesis.

It’s funny, but it’s not that funny. If you’ve seen Anchorman, you know exactly what you’re getting into here. The supporting cast is colorful. Gary Cole, as Ricky’s absentee father Reese, is suitably despicable and humorous. He’s the kind of guy who still wears his Members Only jacket (In brown). Ricky’s kids Walker and Texas Ranger (ha ha) run wild and spew obscenities until Ricky’s mother puts them in their place. The nemesis Jean Girard (Sacha Baron Cohen), a recent French import from Formula 1 racing, is both the funniest character on the screen and an uneasy mix of stereotypical clichés. He shaves his legs. He smokes long cigarettes. He has a husband. And, of course, he is French. He is all things one imagines a NASCAR fan to fear or despise.

It all sounds pretty good on paper, and I’m sure the plotting sessions between director and co-writer Adam McKay and Will Ferrell were a riot. But a funny concept rests a long way from a funny execution. The jokes get tired halfway through. It’s as if each character is a self-contained Saturday Night Live skit that doesn’t know when to stop. Funny if you’re into that sort of thing, but not a classic.