Inbetweeners

Education, education education!

Forget it. According to this year-in-the-life-at-uni comedy of pants, the purpose of the whole thing is to get laid as often as possible, take drugs and sleep until lectures are over. Drinking is cool, especially to excess, and parties of the Rocky Horror cross-dressing variety much sought after.

What the film does is remind those who went through it that you don't make friends so much as land up on a corridor at the hall of residence with a bunch of disparate idiots with whom to hang out. Some of them might be fun, but most are dull and unattractive. There's always a know-it-all third year Lothario who explains how to seduce girls, when to dump them and the best places to pick them up - the library and ballroom dancing class. He maintains that nice is a turn off - "Remember to be a bastard."

The anti-hero is David, who is a virgin and so slow you wonder how he made it through last week. Because he hardly speaks and wanders around like wilted broccoli, the girls prefer him to the bouncy, bubbly, nauseating Jack, who has one of those smiles that cause cancer.

The movie's big moment is when David gets it off with Nicole, also a virgin, but built better. In the history of cinematic sex scenes, this must be the most embarrassing. David's total inadequacy and Nicole's willingness to go through with it makes you worry about the fate of mankind.

The wit is on the level of a Christmas cracker -"Careful, you might break something" "Like what?" "Your voice when you grow up" - and the acting is so flat you could rollerblade over it. Darren Fisher writes and directs in the knowledge that British universities are full of naff people like this, who will recognise themselves and think it's great. As a result, he doesn't put much imagination into it, except to endorse the anti-intellectual flavour and pretend that even here, at the heart of student nihilism, romance splutters.