In sophisticated comedy, what’s funny is the tension between proper manners and the nasty or sexy subtext. Whereas in low comedy, there are no manners, and the nasty or sexy subtext is right there on the surface.
And then there’s Wanderlust, in which the subtext is blasted through megaphones — the characters say so insanely much you want to scream. The satire is as broad as a battleship and equally bombarding. But it takes guts to do a comedy this big without gross-out slapstick, and the writers and the actors are all in.
Amid the zanies, Paul Rudd and Jennifer Aniston have more or less the straight roles, but they’re so innocent they’re borderline crazy. They play George and Linda — he’s in finance, she’s an aspiring documentary filmmaker — who sink their money into an itty-bitty Manhattan apartment and go bust.
As they’re en route to Atlanta to move in with George’s crassly materialistic older brother and his suffering wife, their GPS sends them to the Elysium Bed and Breakfast — a hippie-dippy farming collective out of a time capsule. We’re talking long-haired women in tie-dyed skirts, atop white horses beside tepees. They smoke a lot of dope and rap — not hip-hop rapping but, “Let’s form a truth circle and, you know, rap” rapping.
You say it sounds like a bunch of stereotypes — and 40-year-old stereotypes? The defense concedes the point. It’s not fresh terrain. But this tribe of hippies is also a tribe of marvelously inventive comic actors doing a fair amount of inspired improvisation and grooving on the mindset. Alan Alda plays the commune’s last remaining founder, who rolls around in a wheelchair fulminating against capitalism and, in one drawn-out scene with Rudd and Aniston, explaining Elysium’s policy in favor of free love.