WITH DIALOGUE such as *you'd have married me by now if it wasn't for the pigs* to cement the case for the prosecution, there is no way the makers of Waking Ned can escape the charge of begorrah Rent-a-Paddy Oirishness.

However, you're a fool if you let prickly political correctness interfere with your appreciation of artistic works (Father Ted has done more to perpetuate the image of Irish people as witless simpletons than any amount of Mick McCarthy's muddled musings) - and judged purely on its own merits, Waking Ned is a harmless (at worst) and hilarious (at best) little caper that only a complete curmudgeon could find offensive.

It is set in the fictional village of Tullymore (population 54) where an elderly inhabitant named Ned Devine is in possession of what transpires to be a winning Lotto ticket, only to shuffle off his mortal coil before the winnings can be claimed. Undeterred, his housemates (Ian Bannen and David Kelly in semi-slapstick mode) decide to cash in their dead mate's chips by assuming his identity when *the man from Dublin* reaches town, and the film details their amusing quest to pull off the ultimate scam. The idea is to split the #6m winnings equally among the town's inhabitants, but their masterplan hits something of a snag when the village battleaxe (Fionnuala Flanagan) threatens to shop them to the authorities, and the film suddenly enters darker territory than you would have dared to hope.

There is an undeniable hint of tweeness about Waking Ned, and some of its alleged comic highlights (such as David Kelly's nude motorcycle scene) wore thin years and years ago. But as undemanding lightweight comedy goes, Waking Ned holds more than enough charm to justify its existence.