othing so liberates the heart as when a fool awakes from his folly.” The day after graduating from The Stephenwood Finishing School, Nathanial Mayweather (Chris Elliott) receives notice that his father will come to retrieve him – for what he assumes will be to dazzlingly sweep him away aboard the Queen Catherine at the Golden Mist Seaport to take his rightful place as the manager of his family’s hotel chain in Hawaii. But he’s in for a shock as to how the real world will embrace such a sarcastic, wisecracking, insolent, and insulting young fancy lad. “You are a hateful creature!”

“My life shall never be anything less than perfect.” When he’s unable to curb his condescensions toward others – even to the limo driver assigned to drive him to his destination – Nathanial is dumped off in the middle of nowhere. Breaking a sweat for the first time in his life, he treks to the nearby fishing village, but mistakenly boards a common vessel that sets sail that evening for an early morning catch – beginning a three month voyage. And Captain Greybar (Ritch Brinkley) and his rough, salty, drunken crew – including Paps (James Gammon), Skunk (Brian Doyle-Murray), and Big Teddy (Brion James) – are in no mood to deal with the unprepared youth’s flamboyance, demands, and utter uselessness.

“Fret not, daddy. I shall be with you in a saint’s whisper.” This is clearly a spoof, what with its cartoonish characters and colorful sets, but it isn’t immediately apparent what exactly it aims to send up. Once the boat wanders out into less friendly waters (brimming with bloodthirsty flounders), high fantasy elements shed a bit more light, beginning to resemble the adventures of Sinbad or Jason or such knock-offs like Jim Danforth’s projects, or perhaps something somewhat more modern, like Terry Gilliam’s “Time Bandits.”

Strangely, the insincerity of the personas – inhibited by the PG-13 rating (the lack of cursing is so unnatural that it feels bizarre) and the attention to slapstick and lighthearted humor – clashes tremendously with the setting and the themes of seafaring odysseys (though plenty of anachronisms arise; the time period is impossible to nail down). Even if this were half as realistic, Nathanial would be murdered within mere minutes of his arrival aboard the fishing ship, appropriately named “The Filthy Whore.” Nevertheless, this over-the-top rite-of-passage yarn isn’t without modest charm; there’s something weirdly appealing about positive attitudes and uncommon innocence miraculously winning out over a gritty, unforgiving life at sea – and leading to a moral transformation.

“No rhyme or reason to it.” Problematically, however, the onslaught of gags isn’t always successful. And they’re so terribly incongruous – ranging from humiliating the imbecilic stowaway to distracting half-man/half-shark monstrosities to navigating the drastically changing weather of Hell’s Bucket – that it’s as if the script was a blend of parts from numerous comedies from different genres (a variety show with discrepant musical accompaniments to mix it up even more). One of the subplots involves the nonsensical arrival of long-distance swimmer Trina (Melora Walters), a shapely young woman whose presence has a surprisingly minimal impact on the uncouth tars – and whose character absolutely does not fit into the goings-on. This has to be one of the most offbeat, confusing movies ever made. And yet, as the picture lampoons mythological feats and entities, it’s so ridiculous and random and narratively incoherent that’s it’s routinely watchable. The laughs could be greater and the adventures more thrilling, but it’s oddly, freakishly amusing from time to time, like witnessing an arcane, inscrutable Ray Harryhausen fever dream. “I’m officially sick of you now.”

– Mike Massie