In this TV-to-film update, Will Ferrell plays Dr. Rick Marshall, Quantum Paleologist. Well, kinda. He’s really just Will Ferrell, Guy Who Wears Speedos No Matter What Movie He’s In. Marshall’s latest invention—a tachyon something or other—has just gotten him jolted into another dimension along with Danny McBride (whose beloved 12-year-old on steroids shtick should take warning from Ferrell’s increasing tedium) and Anna Friel as the smart, humorless, stable chick there to solve problems and get her tits squeezed by primates. Land of the Lost is an oddity. The mindless plot and characters—all seemingly sketched out in an afternoon—make this seem like a family film, the type that’s mildly painful for adults but keeps Eddie Murphy in BMWs. But I’d wager multiplex owners are going to get a lot of angry parents this weekend furious that their kids just saw McBride call a dinosaur a “pussy,” and Ferrell drink urine. In a subtler moment, we infer that the dudes have a drug-fueled threesome. The real problem, though, is that director Brad Silberling doesn’t commit to either audience. His pacing is all off; the dirty and clean jokes both delivered in a half-hearted rush to the next equally-disappointing scene. At least the production and set designers knew what film they wanted to make: a garish B-flick. And they’ve gone for it full throttle, from the $20 costumes of the reptilian Sleestaks (one screaming brunette away from a remake of The Creature From the Black Lagoon) to the blinding pop-detritus of the landing spot of Marshall’s interdimensional portal, littered with Big Boy statues, drive-ins, stretch Hummers, roller coasters and Viking ships.