LIVE FROM THE COUCH / Greg Walton

A POST MORTEM ON TWO PRE-FAB COMEDIES

Fool’s Gold lives up to its name; The Bucket List actually kicks a little booty.

Since it’s a slow week in the world of independent/underground/alternative cinema, let’s dissect that particular brand of Hollywood product known as the “pre-fab comedy.” Epitomized by the likes of Wild Hogs and anything starring Matthew McConaughey, the pre-fab comedy is a cheap slut dressed up like a high-class whore. There may be some curb appeal, but you get what you pay for. In the case of a Fool’s Gold (PG-13, Warner Home Video, 112 minutes), you’re lucky if that’s not some sort of cinematic STD.  

The pitch probably sounded good: Kate Hudson and Matthew McConaughey are a pair of bickering tropical treasure hunters whose marriage is rekindled by their wacky exploits in pursuit of a fabled shipwreck. Check that—it still sounds like the ass end of a late-night run for the border. But Hudson is hot in a flat-chested sort of way. And McConaughey specializes in this sort of “himbo” horseshit. Yet the very definition of the pre-fab  comedy is that all the work was done before the cameras even rolled. It’s all in the packaging; details are for critics and auteurs.

Still, it’s hardly worth mocking a movie that’s this intent on embarrassing itself. From McConaughey’s record-setting shirtless performance (honestly, even porn actors don’t find this many excuses to go bare-chested) to ex-Cosby kid Malcolm Jamal-Warner’s brilliant career makeover as a Rastafarian gangster, Fool’s Gold is a treasure map of potential Razzie Award moments. That being said, while the comedy is about as fresh as a Jeff Foxworthy HBO special, the action scenes are shot with more realistic verve than the new Geriatric Jones adventure. So, pat yourself on the back boys.

But just as a double-wide can make the perfect home for a new family and their Bob Seger-series Hummel figurines collection, a pre-fab comedy can hit the spot if the conditions are right. The Bucket List (PG-13, Warner Home Video, 97 minutes), bottomed-out for me before it even hit theaters, with its cutsey ad campaign pitching the idea of two terminally ill buddies (played by two terminally overexposed actors, Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman) who hit the road to live out their dreams before they die. You’d think that Nicholson setting off on this philosophical journey would resonate with the Easy Rider generation who watched him do the same thing on the back of a motorcycle 40 years earlier. But those selfish bastards sold their children for Humvees and hi-definition TVs. Don’t trust anyone over 60, man.

Morgan Freeman lays down a foundation of reassuring voice-overs while Nicholson paints the whole thing his usual shade of crazy. But there’s some meat left on the bones of Justin Zackham’s script, even after director Rob Reiner got done picking it clean. Amidst the sap and sentiment, both actors find a couple of moments to escape the blueprints and play someone other than themselves for the first time in a few movies. And in Hollywood’s pre-fab subdivision, that’s like putting pink flamingos in your fucking front yard.

Straight outta the third most dangerous city in America— Saginaw, Michigan—Greg Walton writes from a basement bunker. His only window to the outside world is a sweet surround sound set-up and 65" inches of hi-def glory.