'Semi-Pro' makes the cut - by the skin of its afro

The Screening Room
Specially written for What's Up

If you’ve seen “Anchorman,” “Talledega Nights” or “Blades of Glory,” you’ve pretty much already seen “Semi-Pro.” Just trade out the newsroom, NASCAR and Iron Lotus for the NBA, Woody Harrelson and one mightily afro-liscious head of hair, and you’ve got the formula for Will Ferrell’s latest silver screen farce.

Tagging in the same crack-up one-liners and slappy bit parts, Ferrell plays a familiarly cocky, schtick-weilding but affable narcissist, set once again against a backdrop of the lava lamps, bellbottoms and disco balls of ‘70s. And let’s not forget those short shorts on the hardwood. Of those, there are close-ups aplenty.

But as overdone as it may be, Ferrell still finds comedic gold telling the tale of Jackie Moon, a one-hit-wonder turned owner/promoter/coach/player of the down-and-out ABA Tropics, a Flint, Mich., basketball team on a losing streak.

But the team is one with a dream. That dream? Fourth place — just enough to secure a spot as one of the four ABA teams to become part of the NBA. With the help of washed-up NBA bench warmer Ed Monix (Harrelson) and Flint fan favorite Clarence ‘Coffee’ Black (Andre Benjamin), the Tropics fight the good fight to the top, overcoming a string of laugh-out-loud gags on the way.

Along with some hilariously deadpan color commentary delivered by Will Arnett and Andrew Daly, a painfully idiotic round of Russian roulette with “Saturday Night Live” funnyman Tim Meadows, mutany, sabotage, a host of glittering halftime routines and one gloriously triumphant vomit, “Semi-Pro” keeps viewers laughing to the final shot. It’s stuffed full of the ridiculous — think ball girls, a killer bear named Dewie and some epic granny-style shooting — that Ferrell fans go to the movies for.

Written by Scot Armstrong (“Old School”) and directed by Kent Alterman (“Elf”), Ferrell and his team are clearly in need of a new game plan, and “Semi-Pro” is perilously close to running the egotistical sports absurdity right into the ground, but audiences shouldn’t tune out just yet.

If you’re looking for an expletive-free hour-and-a-half of cinematic art, choose another theater. But for those with an appreciation for can’t-miss Ferrell buffoonery, snap on a foam finger, pull out the knee-highs and, as they say in Flint, get Tropical.