Reviewed - Dirty Sanchez: the Movie: THAT this wretched thing even exists suggests we may be living in a society whose inclinations towards decadence now exceed the dystopian imaginings of even the most pessimistic of futurologists.

There are now members of the public who will pay to see a filthy Welshman drink the bloody emulsified fat left over after one of his equally rancid friends has undergone public liposuction. JG Ballard may as well just retire. We are clearly one step away from dressing in hides and eating our own young.

Readers who, on occasion, get themselves so drunk they are unable to use the remote control to flee MTV will be aware that Dirty Sanchez is a grimier, less imaginative, more mean-spirited version of the same network's Jackass. Whereas Knoxville's gang puts itself in situations where cranial damage may be a concomitant danger, the Sanchez boys simply hit one another over the heads with clubs.

The big-screen translation, which, at 95 minutes, feels longer than life itself, sees the team dispatched to Hell, where a devil played by (please, no) Howard Marks suggests they return above to investigate the seven deadly sins. Wasabi is snorted. One lad receives more than 100 paintballs to his naked body. Another has a staple forced through his tongue.

It is probably better not to consider the courage required to undergo such torture. In the middle of the last century, the grandfathers of these layabouts called upon their own reserves of valour while exiting landing craft on the beaches of Normandy. Had they suspected that later sons of the valley might exploit their hard-fought freedoms to pull soiled condoms over their heads on national television, the men of the Welsh Regiment may have stayed in their boats.