Let’s get something straight, shall we? There are definitely some movies out there that we go to in hopes of seeing stories and people that remind us of you and me.

“Dupree” is not one of them.

In fact, I’d claim that the last thing absolutely anyone going to see “You, Me and Dupree” wants to think about are the problems you and I face on a daily basis. We’re going to this stupid bit of silliness to get away from those very issues – to escape for just a few hours from this thing called reality.

Without even judging the film – without even touching on the lack of effort that went into its making – “Dupree” fails in this one simple regard: It’s not even an adequate distraction. What it needs is a whole lot more of Dupree (Owen Wilson) and a whole lot less of you (Matt Dillon) and me (Kate Hudson).

In terms of pure premise – or let’s refer to it as poster potential - I gave the whole thing better than 50/50 odds. You’ve got Kate Hudson, you’ve got Owen Wilson – and you’ve got one of the most classic comedic setups imaginable: That friend who just won’t go away.

But there are fewer laughs here in nearly two hours – yes, two hours – than in the 10-minute Saturday Night Live sketch (“the thing that wouldn’t leave”) that these filmmakers really should have spent more time studying. I spent about half this movie recalling the hilarity of that setup, which involved a couch-bound John Belushi riling up a terrified Bill Murray as the one party guest who just wouldn’t get the hint that it was time to head home.

Instead, it seems that Anthony Russo and Joe Russo (if ever a movie proves that one director is better than two, this might be it) have turned their attention to the melodramas of the 1950s, which showed the nuclear family in various states of disarray.

“Dupree” starts with a wedding – the gorgeous blonde marrying the studly exec at her daddy’s office. Dupree is the giddy, silly loafer – the life of the party who doesn’t really have a job, but somehow still always has money for a beer. He’s not a boor, mind you – don’t let that initial stunt with bourbon and a funnel while laying on top of the bar skew your opinion – just an easy-going, innocent guy who means well but slips up into bouts with lethargy, alcoholism and, well, porn.

He’s an intriguing creation, forever bouncing between his infatuations with sleeping all day, hanging with the neighborhood kids, build, classic black-and-white movies, cooking fine cuisine and coaching kids at a school’s career day that, simply put, there are some in the class who will not strive for greatness, but just float along.

For those, he says, Argentina is the place. “Everyone seemed to just be sitting around,” he says with a glint in his eye.

The problems with the film have nothing to do with Dupree, and everything to do with the miserable married couple at the film’s center, which apparently we’re supposed to root for despite their glaring lack of charisma, personality or chemistry.

The more antics that Dupree causes, the more frustrated Molly gets. She adopts the classical Naggy Wife attitude, reading Carl the riot act while still donning white panties in hops of seducing him. And then Molly’s dad (Michael Douglas), who doesn’t like Carl one bit – going so far as recommending a vasectomy! – makes Carl’s job a living hell.

Frustrated and stressed out, Carl turns on Molly, Molly turns to Dupree for comfort, Carl thinks they’re conspiring against him, and this cycle of them-vs.-her, them-vs.-him persists. Ah, but you say, this doesn’t sound all that funny. This sounds like an angry married couple, fighting before going to bed – a divorce in the making. A disappointed wife; a workaholic, soon-to-be-alcoholic husband; a whiny loser.

And of course it’s not funny. I wouldn’t’ want to spend five minutes with these people in a cab. Not an hour together for dinner. And sure as hell not two hours together in a movie theater.

by: Steven Snyder steven@zertinet.com, Published 2006-07-13