Before Barry McKenzie Holds His Own begins, there is a short interlude featuring writer/star Barry Humphries, mimicking an Australian official who warns those watching that the film they are about to see is an insult to everything Australian.

At first it felt like a clever satire of those Australians who take their country and their film so darnn seriously! Upon the films completion, however, it did not take long to realise that the only one worth criticizing is Humphries, and that is because this movie is an over rated, bottom of the barrel disgrace to good taste and humour.

Barry McKenzie Holds His Own is the sequel to the highly successful The Adventures of Barry McKenzie, which critics slammed due to its low ball, gross out humour (that still applies here).

Barry Crocker returns as the patriotic title character, who adores his Fosters beer, loves his women, and hates the English. The film begins with Barry and his Auntie Edna (Barry Humphries) travelling to Paris. In an incredibly silly and outlandish turn of events, Auntie Edna is kidnapped by the evil Count Plasma (Donald Pleasance), who believes that Edna is the Queen of England. His plan is to brainwash Edna, and use her as a tool to draw tourists to his home of Transylvania. It is up to McKenzie and his drunken cohorts to save the day.

This is a comedy that employs the crudest of humour. It is a racist, sexist, homophobic, and anti-Catholic travesty that just does not sit well in these politically correct times, and nor should it. It fails as a satire, simply because it seems to pander to those who are prejudiced by giving them enough ammunition to humiliate and irritate, via a string of insensitive and ill mannered jokes, that conjure grimaces and not laughter.

Humphries seems to believe that because he is a satirist, it gives him free reign to make fun of anyone and everything. Yet the lack intelligence and insight within his jokes (key elements found in the best satires) leaves him fair game to critics who find his material offensive.

Bruce Beresford's direction is extremely poor, as is the lacklustre editing by William M. Anderson and John Scott. The performances are a mixed bag. Crocker and Humphries manage passable turns, in spite of the films shoddy script. However, Donald Pleasance does not fare as well with a horrendously awful turn.

There is some fun to be had in the clash of cultures between the posh English, snobby French, and drunkard Australians. Yet the jokes do get tiresome, with the exception of a rather perceptive Australian culture test game show, which reminds of Australia's current citizenship test.

The inclusion of song and dance numbers coupled with the films obscene humour is reminiscent of Monty Python, who were for certain a huge influence. But unlike their English counterparts, Humphries and co. just does not know how to put on a good show with this type of comedy.