By Anna Merlan
By Lee Escobedo
By Alice Laussade
By Scott Reitz
By Claire Lawton
By Kiernan Maletsky
By Anna Merlan
It took four credited screenwriters to pen a script in which every other word is "dude" or "bra"; but then, how one "writes" or "directs" a film that's essentially 90 minutes of Matthew McConaughey's super-stoned summer-vacay footage remains equally unfathomable, as does its whispered release into theaters before its inevitable voyage direct to Starz, which financed this bummer from McConaughey's production company, J.K. Livin', so named for a line from Dazed and Confused, which he's never stopped making or, for that matter, l-i-v-i-n. The UT Longhorn with the short attention span plays Steve Addington, a world-famous surfer who...ah...urm. Look, there's barely a plot—something to do with a reality show, a videogame, two months without waves in Southern California and Willie Nelson—and what story there is turns so convoluted it doesn't make much sense if you're stoned or stone-cold sober. It's nothing more than an excuse for McConaughey to chillax sans shirt or shoes, awesome; hang with his bras, among them Woody Harrelson as his half-baked manager and Nelson as his pot dealer; ride some waves, duuude; and bang some naked chicks, all right, all right, all right. From the director of the acclaimed documentary Hands on a Hard Body, which only goes to show how easy it is to make a movie about people who won't stop touching a car.
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