The best bits care not for plot, or forwarding the action or any other overrated screenwriting element. There's hardly a whisper of politics or social satire in "Tammy," but when McCarthy's working-class doyenne, filing up the car at a gas station, mutters sarcastically: "Four bucks a gallon? Thanks, Obamacare!" the film blessedly makes room for a sliver of nonsense. My favorite moment has nothing to with story, or even the title character: It's a shot, held longer than usual (director Falcone has a few things to learn about pacing and cutting less frantically) depicting Bates on the dance floor, busting some moves resembling someone dealing with terrible back pain. As for Collette and Oh, they have next-to-nothing or nothing at all to say, to the point that you wonder if these characters are supposed to be mute, or mimes in training.