Rat Race ought to be far less enjoyable than, in the end, it is. Studded with C-list stars, it has a heartless and derivative premise: a group of no-hopers racing across country for a stash of money for the amusement of a casino owner (John Cleese) and a group of high rollers who will bet on anything. Yet their adventures along the way are inventive: for example, lost in the desert Cuba Gooding Jr ends up stealing a coach only to find it full of Lucille Ball impersonators who go "Waaah!" in chorus whenever anything goes wrong. Even the slapstick is inventive: director Jerry Airplane Zucker and writer Andy Breckman do interesting things with hot-air balloons, a narcoleptic Rowan Atkinson, emergency organ transporters and Hitler's Mercedes Benz. All of the characters, from Breckin Meyer's smugly careful lawyer to Seth Green's shabby little con man, discover in the end that they have hearts, that some things are more important than money and that sometimes it is the journey that matters. Of course, these are all colossal sentimental clichés and yet the film has a sweet-natured quality that sells them to us.