Breaking one of my cardinal rules: "Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story"

That is, to never watch a movie with "Hard" and "Cox" in the title.

Yes, it really was Christmas at Casa de Movievangelist. How else to explain how I got see three -- count 'em, three! -- movies on the big screen in less than two weeks time? And I think we'll agree that if any of these is going to sweep the Oscars, it'll be "Walk Hard."

I recall laughing several times at the trailer for this movie, which tracks the rise and fall and rise again of a Johnny Cash-type singer, only dumber. Much dumber. Heretofore second banana John C. Reilly plays the lead, embodying Dewey Cox as he evolves, transforms and generally does all kinds of stupid stuff that we're accustomed to seeing on "Behind the Music."

It's not hard to imagine how this goes. The '50s heartthrob becomes a '60s hippie and then a '70s disco has-been before disappearing altogether. Along the way, he tries every drug ever invented, beds hundreds of women and has a couple of failed marriages. What I didn't see coming: a completely unnecessary dick-and-balls shot the morning after a hotel-room romp. Not John C., but damn disturbing and -- per our rules -- an automatic one-star deduction.

That doesn't mean "Walk Hard" walks away with three stars, though. Reilly certainly is game here; hey, the guy's a pro. And there are plenty of funny bits. Dewey's Indian encounter with the Beatles was hilarious; I don't want to spoil the surprise, but one of the Fab Four is played by a guy whose name rhymes with Fall Mud. (We love that guy!) I also dug Dewey's Beach Boys/"Pet Sounds" phase.

There's other stuff to like, too. Dewey's two wives, Kristen Wiig and Jenna "Pam" Fischer, give solid efforts, and Fischer wears some revealing clothes to boot. Always a plus. And the music is pretty good throughout. Reilly can sing -- check out "Chicago" -- and coming up with takeoffs for each of the genres Cox dabbles in couldn't have been easy. Hell, I could see buying the soundtrack. It's that good.

The movie as a whole, however, is too uneven to totally succeed. I'll probably watch it again on video or cable, and I applaud the effort. Any nitwit can mock NASCAR, but it takes talent to ape the Johnny Cash story, complete with musical numbers. Maybe if some of the locker-room stuff had given way to more sly or deadpan humor, I'd sing Dewey's praises more. And I, too, would walk hard.