Wanderlust

Comedy is a genre I have thus far not reviewed in this blog. Obviously, I have eschewed the all horror approach as I am now focused primarily on documenting everything I see in theaters with the occasional home viewing aside. As diverting as comedy can be when done right, it's just not that forceful a genre as a rule. By which I mean, its impression is a fleeting one. Something fun to pass the time, or cinematic comfort food to revisit as a reliable pick me up when you're down. Every now and then, comedy can be an avant garde art bomb with lasting relevance such as Dr. Strangelove or Borat. The breezy, utterly forgettable Wanderlust however, is little more than an agreeable time waster, so this won't take long.

Wanderlust plays briefly at being some sort of dissertation on how shallow greed and meaningless consumerism has polluted the American soul, and how a return to nature and simplicity might be an answer. Then it devolves into a bunch of cheap gags involving being uncomfortable with nudity, getting dosed with hallucinogens and people bothering Paul Rudd while he's pooping. Rudd and Aniston are likable leads, but their relationship never feels real, not for one second. This makes it impossible to care one iota about the narrative thrust of the film, especially during the all too familiar "wacky comedy ending". Justin Theroux is quite good as the de facto leader of the hippies, whose preternatural musical and spiritual abilities make his character interesting and hilarious. Until, of course, a painfully predictable plot machination requires him to completely abandon the foundation of his performance and everything that made it so enjoyable.

There is a vastly more interesting film satirizing gated community life buried in the middle of its dated send up of stale hippie conventions. Writer Frank Marino plays Rudd's upwardly mobile and unrepentantly repellent brother, a successful port-a-potty salesman who values status symbols, off color humor and infidelity above all else. He's a disgustingly hilarious rageaholic perfectly complimented by his vapid, somnambulist alcoholic of a wife. As someone who has suffered through no small amount of "Real Housewives Of..." shows at his wife's behest, I can attest to the validity of their respective portrayals. This is the aspect of modern life that needs skewering, yet is treated as a digression, artlessly and unsatisfactorily wrapped up in a hurried manner to get back to the thoroughly uninvolving commune situation.

It's not without merit though. As I said, the leads are all pleasant to spend time with, Rudd in particular could do this sort of thing in his sleep but commits fully nonetheless. Alan Alda puts in some very nice work as the community's forgetful founder and the supporting players all turn in solid work, wresting decent laughs from tired, obvious material. It's not something I would actively seek out to re-watch, but am sure would pass the time nicely on a lazy, snowed in Sunday. It has all the virtues of an entertaining comedy and all the drawbacks.