I started this piece of shit movie with low expectations and then I was sorely disappointed. I can’t even believe I’m writing about it but something happened after my wife came in to ask what I was watching and I told her in a daze and then involuntarily mentioned that it was a terrible movie. I was going to finish it, I realized, and then I was going to have to complain about it in some detail, so here we are.
I feel like I want to know how this movie has been reviewed up to the day. I’ll check that in a minute, but meanwhile I guess we’re looking at Florida’s answer to Hunter S. or Jim Morrison or Bukowski or something and we’re supposed to believe that everyone loves this staggering dipshit because he’s portrayed by Matthew McConaughey?
I have been a fan of anti-heroism from a very young age; I’ve hardly liked anything else; and yet–we’re supposed to believe that “Moondog” is a brilliant poet from a few lines about his dick recycled from one performance of his youth to another at the end when he’s blown everyone’s mind by turning out that book we all really knew he had in him but would never finish but he’s finished it and by God no one is going to call him out on anything now. That settles it. A few pithy lines about looking down and admiring his own penis and we’re all to be sold on his reason for living rather than drowning at the hands of his own family, who are instead all helplessly caught up in the “brilliance” of his chaos and phallic self-admiration.
He is passionate about his wife’s sexual and material offerings–offered both to him and his best friend, who is portrayed by Snoop–but dispassionate about her dying as the result of a car accident they share. He escapes rehab with a junkie and goes along with the robbing of a man in a wheelchair; then, when the junkie thinks to go back and leave a little money–feeling at odds with his moral code I guess–Moondog goes back and reclaims that money, leaving us with the important message that if you’re going to violently mug a man in a wheelchair you’d better go all the way.
Jonah Hill, as Moondog’s agent, offers another important piece of wisdom without the slightest hint of irony–that the best thing about being rich is how badly you get to treat everyone around you. Moondog goes on to receive his inheritance from the wife in cash, on a boat he named and had painted “Success,” which of course he sort of accidentally burns, then barely escapes from with his life, laughing all the way. See he’s not interested in anyone’s idea of “success,” right? Some subtle shit we’re taking in for the price of admission.
I was just hoping for something like a Bill Murray movie from the 80s or maybe a Cheech and Chong sort of thing, for the love of God. I think it’s possible I might have found this film in that vaguely entertaining bracket I expected with a different lead, but I doubt it. And I don’t even mean to bag on this Matthew guy, because I feel like maybe I’ve seen him do something I like, but there was nothing in this character or McConaughey’s representation I found endurable; nothing about the story I found interesting; not a single likable character (aside from maybe Moondog’s daughter, oh and a sailor played by Martin Lawrence, both of whom we barely get to meet); there is no reason to see this movie or even consider it.
I regret the whole thing and find favorable reviews on Rotton Tomatoes or anywhere else insulting to the movie industry in all its artistically upstanding splendor.