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July 17, 2006 - Image 11

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Publication:
Michigan Daily Summer Weekly, 2006-07-17

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The Michigan Daily - Monday, July 17, 2006 - 11
'You, Me' and the exit: AM
a film about nothing

By Imran Syed
Daily Arts Writer
FILM REVIEW A k k
Owen Wilson's latest character comedy
"You, Me and Dupree" is really about as big a
disaster as a moviegoer can encounter. More
than simply a bad film (it certainly is that),
it's an epic underachievement, thrashing a
wholly talented and gen-
erally likable cast while
firing off one inane prank You, Me and
after another. What we Dupree
have here is not a cohesive At the Showcase
narrative, nor even bits and Quality 16
and pieces of substance; Universal
we have what happens
when the eccentric genius
behind films like "Wedding Crashers" and
"Starsky & Hutch" fails, leaving only well-
meaning comedians with absolutely nothing
to say or do.
The setup of "Dupree" is just as promis-
ing as Wilson's last comedy, the successful
"Wedding Crashers." Dupree (Wilson) is the
eternal slacker, an adult who never really
outgrew his irresponsible teenage self. He
somehow manages to show up at the Hawaii
wedding of his best friend Carl (Matt Dil-
lon, "Crash") - but only after landing on the
wrong island first.
Soon after the wedding, just as Carl
and his new wife Molly (Kate Hudson,
"The Skeleton Key") are getting ready to
start their life together, Dupree gets fired,
becomes homeless and is generously invited
to live at Carl and Molly's house. So begins
the story of the screw-up living in his best
friend's house, blowing off job interviews

and spending most of his days playing sports
with neighborhood kids. Unfortunately for
the audience, Dupree isn't the only thing
that's screwed up; the "plot," direction and
screenplay at times make the film almost
unbearable to sit through.
There isn't really a single funny moment
in the whole film. The lack of humor is
astonishing considering that Wilson has but
to open his mouth and something hilarious
almost always jumps out. (One would have
thought that Texas drawl could fix even the
most damaged scripts; alas, that's not so).
The filmmakers have done here what we all
thought impossible; they have found a way to
make Wilson boring, asinine and downright
annoying.
But it isn't just Wilson who looks bad. The
film somehow brings out the worst in every
actor. Dillon is a great dramatic actor (he
earned an Oscar nomination for "Crash") but
can be a tad too dry at times. And wouldn't
you know it, the only side of Matt Dillon we
see in the film is the overly serious, humor-
less policeman of personal relationships
- not exactly the guy you root for when he
faces marital problems.
And as for Hudson? She's OK, but there
isn't a single scene she's able to make her
own, not one line that couldn't as easily have
been uttered by any random female lead.
This certainly isn't to say she has no special
qualities to bring to the table, simply that
none of them are used. The fact that the plot
winds and swerves into the darkest of narra-
tive alleys and gives no actor the chance to
become a cohesive character especially hurts
Hudson's attempt to portray the supportive
yet frustrated wife.
As bad as they all are, we can forgive

"You have no idea what I'm about to do to Mr. Buliwinkle."

Wilson, Dillon and Hudson because it's the
movie that makes their characters so terrible
(in fact, given the excruciating screenplay
they're forced to endure, the three actually
remain oddly affable). But Michael Douglas,
who plays Molly's overbearing and more-
than-slightly creepy father, isn't so lucky.
Sure, his role is just terribly conceived, but
he's left so far out to dry that even his trade-
mark smooth, deliberate enunciation can't

buy an ounce of credibility. Is this really the
same guy who bettered Robin Williams's
remarkable performance in "Good Morn-
ing, Vietnam" to pick up an Oscar for "Wall
Street" in 1988? Could he really have fallen
so far down?
Let's hope it's just the "Dupree" effect; we
can't afford to lose Michael Douglass to the
theatrical equivalent of Priceline commer-
cials just yet.

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