As I write this I'm finishing off a piece of Marks & Spencer banoffee pie. This is a good pie. It is tasty. It is perhaps the best of pies. Three days ago I was witness to an altogether more mouldy affair; the stale, stagnant stench of American Pie: The Wedding, an experience I can only liken to a small demonic midget who stinks of faeces feeding me vomit whilst electrocuting my gonads and drawing razor blades across my eyes. Harsh? Favourable more like. If like me you cannot surmount the intellectual drop-off that constitutes a trip across the Atlantic then avoid this travesty. If you thought the previous two movies were pure comic genius then there's little point in even trying to dissuade you from venturing into the cinema to see this; shagging grandmothers, throwing pubic hair through a kitchen fan and sporting an erection in public are obviously your taste.

For anyone who might care (and it is with dismay I surmise this will be a far higher figure than is justified), AP3 sees Jim (Jason "I've got f**k all else to fall back on now these movies are finished" Biggs) propose to Michelle (Alyson "I've got a voice like a down-shifted tractor" Hannigan) in a Really Funny Scene where she gives him a blow job under a restaurant table. A-ha ha ha. Everyone's very excited about it. Everything that possibly can go wrong does go wrong, it all gets sorted, The End. I have a hard time summoning the physical and mental constitution to continue now, but I suppose I must.

Everything about this comic clunker oozes amateur hour, from the cock-awful script to the nipple-twistingly abysmal direction from Jesse "I've only done one other film ever, me" Dylan. Ninety percent of the cast from the first two films either didn't turn up or weren't included anyway, and one gets the distinct impression they're the only ones to have benefited from this munter of a movie. Selected comedy "highlights" include Stifler teaching Jim to dance, Stifler having a dance-off with a gay guy in a gay bar, Stifler pretending to be nice to get in a posh girl's pants and, most indicatively of the depths to which this sinks in the name of "entertainment", Stifler eating a dog shit. A-ha ha ha. He was pretending it was a chocolate truffle, you see. A-ha ha ha.

As you might have guessed, most of the vaguely smirk-inducing moments come courtesy of Seann William Scott, a talented young actor either too stupid to say "no" to this or too unfortunate to be able to escape contractual obligations. Either way he manages to pack in less laughs in this hundred minutes than during his five minutes onboard Old School, and in a film where he's the highlight you know that's trouble.

AP3 might have managed to raise a few chuckles had it left any of the jokes until it was time to tell them. Instead, American audiences apparently like a setup more heavy-handed than a gorilla with lead arms, leading to some woefully suspense-wrecking moments. Witness Stifler PICKING UP A DOG TURD IN A CUPCAKE CUP. Witness Stifler NEEDLESSLY CARRY THE TURD AROUND WITH HIM. Witness Stiffler HIDE IT BEHIND HIS BACK WHEN HE TALKS TO A WOMAN WE HAVE BEEN TOLD ENDLESSLY LIKES CHOCOLATE. Witness the woman TAKE AN INTEREST IN WHAT IT IS STIFLER IS HIDING. And so on and so on. The dialogue too is cack-handedly implemented. A distilled example;

"Thank God nobody told Stifler about the engagement party"

"Yes, he's very loud and always swears"

"Can you imagine the chaos if Stifler arrived!"

"Yes, imagine. If Stifler arrived it would be VERY BAD"

"Lots of bad stuff would happen if Stifler arrived unexpectedly"

"Yes, a LOT of BAD STUFF, especially as it would be so UNEXPECTED"

*** Ding-Dong! ***

"Who is that at the door?"

"Oh no! It is Stifler!"

If that makes you laugh then I hope you die. Sincerely. I'd rather set fire to my first child and eat the remains from a plate of impacted cat shit in front of a baying audience of rabid cannibals than shake hands with anyone involved in this debacle. Might I suggest Eugene Levy in particular show us he can do something other than the "concerned Jewish dad" routine? Really mate, not that you're getting typecast or anything. Likewise, Biggs should just give up acting and pursue a far more opportunistic career in whaling, affording him far better likelihood of doing something useful with his life.

I can no longer go on. There really isn't anything to say about this steaming heap of shite that I haven't already said. I apologise for the brevity of this review and the horrendously fractured structure of my critique, but to be honest I really could not give a flying f**k. I haven't been this insulted since Dreamcatcher, and I'm certainly not about to make the mistake of wasting as much time on this as I did on that. If the planet melted and sent me spinning off into deepest darkest space to spend an eternity on my own in that lifeless void of doom and agony I'd be a happier man than I am right now, writing about this arse nugget. Go away.

1 out of 5