Lounging around in his Swiss villa, you'd have thought Roger Moore would have the time to take a decent look at the scripts dropping through his letterbox.

So what on earth possessed him to pick a comedy which cast him as a wrinkled old queen and gave him the line: "Would you care for a bit of my sausage?"

It was obviously the same rush of blood to the head that clouded Cuba Gooding Jr's judgement when he agreed to climb aboard.

From an Oscar for Jerry Maguire, through the embarrassments that were Rat Race and Snow Dogs, this really has to be rock-bottom.

He plays Jerry, a man recently dumped after he vomited into the cleavage of his intended as he was about to pop the question in a hot air balloon. (Don't ask.)

He teams up with best buddy Nick (Horatio Sanz, an actor almost completely devoid of any charisma whatsover).

After falling out with the vengeful gay travel agent, the gormless couple don't realise they've been sold a Mediterranean cruise exclusively for homosexual men.

"We're not going for the discourse," reasons Nick, under the impression they're joining a boatload of tottie. "We're going for the intercourse."

If you were to learn the previous line was the comedy highpoint of this sorry affair then you'd have a rough idea how desperate it is.

Every homophobic cliche (Bette Midler, interior design...) is wheeled out, with the film-makers clumsily confusing camp with being gay.

Toss in the Swedish Bikini Team (plus Rosa Klebb-type trainer) to win back the straight male audience and you only need a gay former James Bond to complete the equation (step forward, Roger).

You don't believe it can get any worse when, suddenly, it manages to drill through the bottom of the barrel to a witless wasteland below.

Tim Evans