In theaters

ME, MYSELF & IRENE. Directed by Peter Farrelly and Bobby Farrelly. Written by the Farrellys and Mike Cerrone. 116 minutes. Rated R.

If the first rule in Hollywood is to give audiences what they want, then it seems what audiences really want are shots of Jim Carrey defecating on a neighbor’s lawn, firing a round of bullets into an ailing cow’s head, dunking a bratty child into a fountain filled with water, and then, as if that weren’t enough, suckling a nursing mother only to ride away on a motorcycle with a milk mustache.

That’s precisely the type of comedy fans of Peter and Bobby Farrelly’s “Dumb and Dumber,” “Kingpin” and “There’s Something About Mary” can expect in the Farrellys’ latest offering, “Me, Myself & Irene,” a raunchy film that offers big laughs — and some even bigger moments of silence sandwiched between those laughs.

The film is politically incorrect with an exclamation point — which, of course, is the point. Perhaps nowhere else but in a Farrelly movie can one find a genius black dwarf wielding a fierce set of nunchuks, or an albino waiter who is called — at various points in the film — Whitey, Milky, Casper and a giant Q-Tip.

There are other highlights that claw away at the screen like rats at a cardboard box, but none quite as invigorating as the scene in which a chicken winds up with its head stuck in a place where the sun doesn’t shine.

Watching that chicken flap its wings and fight for flight reminded me of the chickens fighting for a different kind of freedom in “Chicken Run,” a superior film that understands a few things about sophisticated humor and wit that the Farrellys will probably never grasp.

Not that they care. The Farrellys graduated from the “Animal House” and “Porky’s” school of film, which can be great fun when done well, as the Farrellys proved in “Mary.” But in “Irene,” the pacing is off, too many of the jokes lack punch, and the plot is ridiculously thin, as if it were fleshed out on the back of a napkin before being greenlit by Hollywood.

The film stars Carrey as Charlie Baileygates, a pathologically mild-mannered Rhode Island state trooper whose personality splits after years of being mistreated by his friends, family and community.

The split releases another personality named Hank from the bowels of Charlie’s mind, an unexpectedly fertile place that festers and boils with unseemly ideas about sex, women, manhood and masculinity.

The result is a film that calls on Carrey to fight with himself much as he did in “Liar, Liar.” When circumstances conspire to hook him up with the sweetly combative Irene (Renee Zellweger), each becomes a fugitive of the law, and they hit the road running with the evil Lt. Gerke (Chris Cooper) hot on their trail.

None of the plot matters; it’s only used to showcase the film’s endless sight gags and Carrey’s elastic face. But audiences might be tiring of what Carrey can do with his face. At my screening, which was packed, the big laughs came early on before dwindling into the occasional giggle and one terrifically loud yawn, which punctuated the silence so completely, it gave perfect comment to a film whose script splits under the weight of its own weightless contrivances.

Grade: C+

On Video

DEUCE BIGALOW: MALE GIGOLO. Directed by Mike Mitchell. Written by Rob Schneider and Harris Goldberg. Running time: 84 minutes. Rated R.

It should surprise no one that Mike Mitchell’s “Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo” isn’t nearly as lyrical as its title might otherwise suggest.

The film, which stars Rob Schneider of “Saturday Night Live,” “Men Behaving Badly” and “Big Daddy,” is a clumsy, twisted bit of silliness whose rollicking premise quickly exhausts itself after just a few laps around the bedroom.

The film features Schneider as Deuce Bigalow, a Los Angeles-based fish tank cleaner who damages a client’s apartment, must come up with $6,000 to repair it, and decides the best way to do that is to follow his client’s lead and become a gigolo.

If you’ve seen the film’s trailer, then you’ve seen the best parts of the movie, which find Deuce hustling a unique bevy of women: one with Tourette’s syndrome, a narcoleptic, a giantess named Tina, and an amputee.

Sometimes the humor is inspired, particularly when Deuce takes the woman with Tourette’s to a baseball game (her constant shouting and swearing makes her a natural for that crowd), but too often the jokes fall flat on their backs — which, to some, may seem fitting.

But not in a comedy.

Grade: C-

Christopher Smith is the Bangor Daily News film critic. His reviews appear Monday and Thursday in the NEWS, Tuesday and Thursday on NEWS CENTER’s statewide “NEWS CENTER at 5:30” and “NEWS CENTER Tonight,” and Saturday and Sunday on NEWS CENTER’s statewide “Morning Report.”