Film review: A state of clueless âWanderlustâ
âWanderlust,â the new project from Judd Apatow and associates, starts as though it were ripped from todayâs (or at least this decadeâs) headlines. Yuppie couple George (Paul Rudd) and Linda (Jennifer Aniston) buy a tiny, fabulously expensive Manhattan âmicro-loft.â George suddenly is downsized out of his job; HBO passes on Lindaâs depressing documentary about penguins with testicular cancer; and the housing bubble bursts. Suddenly they owe more than the apartment is worth.
They head off for Atlanta to crash with Georgeâs unbelievably obnoxious brother (Ken Marino), but have an accident along the way. And, from that moment on, âWanderlustâ â whose title, by the way, is unrelated to its content â may still feel ripped from the headlines ⊠headlines from 30 or 40 years ago.
George and Linda take refuge for the night at a hippie commune in the woods. Yes, a hippie commune. I had packed up that phrase in my rhetorical cedar closet years ago, assuming Iâd never have to utter it again. Itâs sort of a satirical version of the opening section of âEasy Rider.â From then on, with exception of the updated lingo and one minor (but very amusing) subplot, everything suggests that this commune dates from somewhere between 1967 and 1975. In fact, you might even initially think that âWanderlustâ is set up like âBrigadoon,â with George and Linda having stumbled through a mystical time warp.
Alternately, you could consider it to be the comedy version of âMartha Marcy May Marlene.â Once again, the group claims not to have leaders, but is clearly led by guitar-playing know-it-all Seth (Justin Theroux). Most of the others are mush-brained space cadets, presumably Sethâs pawns. Just who pays for food and necessities is never made clear.
Unfortunately, itâs not just the commune that seems transplanted from 40 years ago. So does the film around it. About halfway through, I began entertaining the notion that this was a rewritten resurrection of some dusty unproduced screenplay that Apatow and his friends had found in Granddadâs attic. (Itâs not.)
The original of this subgenre is Hy Averbackâs âI Love You, Alice B. Toklas,â the very funny 1968 Peter Sellers vehicle written by Paul Mazursky and Larry Tucker.
Many of the plot elements and joke concepts are similar. It doesnât take a psychic to predict, for instance, that George will embrace the idea of free love, then freak out when Linda follows suit.
Itâs hard to imagine a pair of performers more instantly likable than Rudd and Aniston, but Anistonâs role is decidedly secondary to Ruddâs George; and George, without explanation, starts acting as though he has multiple-personality disorder about two-thirds through, apparently channeling one of the backwoods cretins from âDeliverance.â
The most enjoyable presence on the screen is Alan Alda, as the vaguely senile final survivor of the communeâs founding.
Yes, there are some funny lines along the way: We realize exactly how long Seth has been away from the society when he rhapsodizes to George and Linda about the joys of life in a world without âyour pagers and zip drives, your fax machines and Arsenio Hall.â
Back when the âlate â60sâ â which actually lasted until 1975 (donât ask) â were actually happening, most Hollywood visions of the counterculture felt like the work of filmmakers way too old and clueless. Iâm looking at you, ghost of Otto Preminger. Itâs ironic that here the filmmakers seem too young to have a clue.
ANDY KLEIN is the film critic for Marquee. He can also be heard on âFilmWeekâ on KPCC-FM (89.3).