Your trusty global companion for spiritual, sensual, and literary journeys with author Lyn Fuchs
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Rudd Gets Rude In Wanderlust
Imagine one great American road trip visiting three great American subcultures at their hyperbolic silliest. The Wanderlust starts in New York City. Here urbanites pay the price of a meal for a coffee called a latte and the price of a house for a closet called a mini-loft. Here executive Paul Rudd slaves in a legally-questionable company to support his artist wife Jennifer Aniston in making weepy apocalyptic documentaries about penguins suffering from testicular cancer. Soon, he has had all of the ball-busting black-and-white-suited corporate march of the penguins he can take and decides to get the hell out.
Escape to Atlanta. Here Rudd's country relatives glory in materialistic spoils and their superiority to Mexicans, while hiding serial marital affairs and alcohol abuse. Here the alpha male struts his crude jokes and earning prowess in the porta-potty business like a peacock with an SUV. Head out for the countryside. In the middle of nowhere, our young couple stumbles onto the last remnants of a hippie commune. Here they find love and acceptance. They also find nude novel writing, stoned drum banging, free partner swapping, tree-bark-tea sipping, and vegan dining with an exception for human placenta.
When the tribe gathers around Paul straining on the toilet to offer affirmation and encouragement, it's uncomfortable and hysterical. When Paul practices down-and-dirty organic sex talk before a mirror in hope of discouraging the horny patchouli chics, it's annoying and disturbing. Still, any film that offers such nonstop cultural parody is gonna miss a few times. Plus, any film that gives such a fond and funny sendoff to the last endangered species the hippies will ever try to save (themselves) is more than worth seeing. I wouldn't call this film a work of art, but it definitely has a good vibe and a positive aura. I can dig it.