Van Wilder is quite a character. In the nature of Ferris Bueller, Van (Ryan Reynolds) is a charismatic, hip young male whose peers just can’t get enough of him. The big difference between Van and Ferris is that Van is not likeable. He is a womanizing, foul-mouthed young man who just can’t get his priorities straight.

Van, the main character in “National Lampoon’s Van Wilder”(Artisan, R), does have a few likable moments, but they are destroyed by useless, despicably horrid pranks that ruin any chance of promoting him in a positive light. I wonder if John Hughes ever imagined the teen comedy genre he created mutating to this sad, low-brow level.

Welcome to Coolidge College – the only college where you can blow off a whole semester of class, ace the final and pass the course. This also is the magic kingdom where parking officers carry guns and people spontaneously erupt into flames.

Van Wilder has been in college for seven years now. When his father cuts his tuition off, he has to come up with other sources of funds to pay for his school. With the help of his personal assistant (Kal Penn), he develops schemes to raise the money. I know, you’re wondering why Van has a personal assistant. Don’t ask – the answer is even dumber than the question.

Of course, there has to be more to it than that. No teen comedy can resist the even dumber sub-plot.

A pesky student journalist (Tara Reid) is forced to write a feature story on Van. See, she hates Van and there’s no way she would ever be attracted to him – ever. Gee, I wonder where this is heading.

Attention friends of Tara Reid – could someone get her a cough drop? That dry, emotionless, raspy voice sends chills up one’s spine.

This movie is not all bad. There are a few humorous moments that make me wonder what this movie could’ve been, were it in better creative hands. However, just as I started to find myself liking this film, a disturbing scene would appear to completely change my perspective.

What is it about teen comedies making gross-out humor such a necessity? People don’t go to the movies to become physically nauseous. As Van would say, “You better write that down.”

So, if watching frat boys chow down on pastries filled with dog semen is your cup of tea – this is the film for you. Perhaps you’re the type that is entertained by watching a frat boy have explosive diarrhea in an office trash can while screaming, “I’m bleeding!” If either of these is your forte, then “Van Wilder” is your film of the century.

To director Walt Becker – grosser might mean “Wilder,” but to me, it means sadder. And nothing’s sadder than a film that has a lot of potential and blows it by running right back to old, tired clichés.