To describe The Naked Gun as funny would be a disservice. It is charming but crude, light-hearted but cruel. It is intelligence masquerading as dense ignorance; an infectiously hilarious oxymoron.

Roger Ebert once wrote, “Criticism quails in the face of “The Naked Gun.”” I can’t help but agree. The film is the innocently deviant marriage between moronic tomfoolery and astute wit, a relationship that explores every facet that comedy has to offer. It is a classic that is still at the top of its game alongside other vintage farces like Spaceballs, Airplane!, and Three Amigos – however The Naked Gun: From the Files of Police Squad! sits atop the slapstick throne; a seat made for kings and clowns. And it is infallible, ineffable, and incredibly stupid.

But even stupidity needs a face. Frank Drebin (Leslie Nielsen) is the blundering police lieutenant (pronounced the American way) that always stumbles in at the right moment to save the day. On holiday in Beirut, Drebin infiltrates a meeting held by America’s greatest enemies: Amin, Castro, Gaddafi, and Gorbachev to name a few of these dated world leaders. He battles the greedy dictators heroically and patriotically, dispensing American justice the only way one can; with buffoonery and a clean right hook – Gorbachev’s birthmark wiped clean mid-tango.

Returning to L.A., Drebin steps off the plane to a crowd of fans cheering, calmly making his way to a podium and microphone as suitcases are flung from the airplane in the background, notably without care. He begins a heartfelt speech to the onlookers until he realises they aren’t there for him, rather for Weird Al Yankovic, a self-aware irony that is the first of many.

The well of gags is deep and never runs dry, bucket after bucket filled to the brim with refreshing chuckles, snorts, and giggles. There is rarely a chance to catch your breath as Drebin makes yet another innuendo, or one of the million visual jokes flies by so fast that you can’t even blink for fear of missing it. Sometimes, the innuendos aren’t even spoken, Drebin and his equally foolish love interest Jane Spencer (Priscilla Presley) each wearing body-sized protection as they spend the night together. The image of gown-sized latex condoms will forever be burnt into my brain, along with the giant foil packages sitting on the nightstand.

The list goes on and on and on, and just as you think there is a moment of serenity – maybe criminal mastermind Victor Ludwig (Ricardo Montalban) is delivering his final speech – Nielsen’s unfaltering seriousness in these times of ludicrous absurdity will start up the laughs again. Even time has helped the humour: O. J. Simpson’s recurring cameo as Nordberg is funny and comically out of place, but Simpson’s legal issues have only elevated his comedic power. Although I feel I am laughing at him rather than the intention to laugh with his loveable nature – but a laugh is a laugh.

Each joke is choreographed to perfection, one never hogging the limelight for too long but just long enough so it can never be forgotten

As senseless and incoherent as things may seem, there is a well-tuned machine that hums beneath the nonsensical façade. This isn’t a stream of one-liners that fade into the background the moment it passes, rather it is the intelligent rambling of insanity told through the medium of visual comedy. Like a dance, each joke is choreographed to perfection, one never hogging the limelight for too long but just long enough so it can never be forgotten.

And yet we are forgetting them. Slapstick and visual comedy are becoming relics, the directors who once kept the torch lit straying further into the realms of realism and drama. Maybe because The Naked Gun and its compatriots don’t offer that intellectual challenge, or maybe the relentless jovial assault is too much to handle. Or maybe it is their unwavering defiance to criticism that has led to their modern death. Yet, somehow, the mindless action and tedious wisecracks of all the Fast & Furious’ of the world survive and thrive. What a shame.