Poor Matthew McConaughey. Dude gives it away for free, and now no one wants to pay to see it, but, hell, he ain’t no Trent Reznor. With McConaughey’s latest
waxed-chested home video, dude just wanted to save our souls and, for the sheer hell of it, flash his wang at the very same time. Despite this most righteous cause, shockingly, Mister Goodtime got owned at the box office. In its first ten days, McConaughey’s self-produced Surfer, Dude pulled in just $36,497 in 69 theaters, which is really gonna harsh pretty boy’s buzz:
Surfer, Dude thinks we’re too plugged in. “If you’re in that cyberworld and your image of reality and your POV of what’s happening around is based off this tool, or the TV, your soul’s getting stripped,” McConaughey said. “You gotta watch those things, because they can start tooling you instead of being the tool.”
But Surfer, Dude isn’t all that deep, and there’s plenty of other things that get stripped on screen. There’s no shortage of bare breasts, and McConaughey takes a potshot at himself with a naked didjeridoo session. Though the lighting is low, McConaughey’s junk is on display to guarantee healthy DVD sales.
What it really sounds like, according to the Hollywood Reporter, is that McConaughey and his fellow reprobates merely got together, partied for a few hours, and lamented their lack of tasty waves:
Matthew McConaughey and his pals-including co-stars Woody Harrelson and Willie Nelson-probably had a blast making “Surfer, Dude.” But they forgot to provide an equally good time for the audience.
Perpetually stoned surfing legend Steve Addington (McConaughey) returns to Malibu from a round-the-world odyssey. His home turf has changed in his absence . . . . The undernourished story is merely the pretext for a lot of stoner gags and hearty party scenes with bare-breasted starlets.
Perhaps McConaughey’s star power is meant to gloss over this plot lapse, and he walks through the movie-mainly in the same pair of black-and-white swim trunks and no shirt-amiably enough . . . . Harrelson, Nelson, and Scott Glenn do what they can with poorly written roles . . . . Someone else’s vacation photos are never much fun to watch, and this beach party is a drag for onlookers.
What, no take on the much-publicized display of angry boulder-flinging in the name of lost waves? Next thing we know, someone’s gonna tell us those weren’t real rocks. No, I can’t handle the truth!