R-rated comedies trade on sex, not scripts

New Line Cinema presents a David Dobkin film, starring Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson. Written by Steve Faber and Bob Fisher. 119m. R for sexual content/nudity and language.

1.5 stars

Like thousands of other hot-blooded, sex-addled 20-somethings, I’m supposed to wallow in the unadorned raunch of “Wedding Crashers” and praise it for titillating me with sex montages, double-entendred jokes and zany stunts. Otherwise, I’ll be grouped with the other neuters, who are condemned for having no sense of humor and being way too uptight about a piece of silly entertainment.

So let me make this clear: My disdain towards “Wedding Crashers” isn’t about the number of times I didn’t laugh, or the surgically-enhanced breasts I saw. It’s the fact that its staggering box office suggests a new trend is upon us: When the script sorely lacks, let’s just throw a bunch of gratuitous flesh on the screen and appeal to the lowest common denominator.

I thought the premise showed great promise. Many a dorm-room conversation was dominated by fantasies of rivers of booze liquoring up cute strangers looking for “Mr. Right (now)” in the wedding setting.

John Beckwith (Owen Wilson) and Jeremy Grey (Vince Vaughn) are fraternity-types who have taken an idea conjured somewhere between cans of Old Milwaukee and Natural Ice and made it into a 30-year-old’s reality. Their summer vacation is wedding season, where the two engage in a role-play that ensures them free drinks, free eats, free dance, and free, available women.

During the other 49 weeks, they’re court-appointed mediators - although if you believe the Butterscotch Stallion has even gone near a law book with that surf-ready hair, I’ve got a bridge to sell you.

Grey scores the invite of the year - to the prestigious wedding of Secretary Cleary’s (Christopher Walken) daughter at some Hamptons-esque destination. The two pose as venture capitalists from New Hampshire and intimidate doubting Thomas with citations like, “We’re Uncle Ned’s kids...you know Uncle Ned, right?”

It’s not all crashing weddings and beds, however. There’s rules to keep a modicum of safety for the uninvited guests. Positive attention, like dancing with the flower girl or instigating the house band to play “Shout,” is welcomed. Negative attention, like sulking in the corner because an apparent conquest brought her boy-toy, is a sure no-no.

But how could you not sulk when the main attraction is Cleary daughter, Claire (Rachel McAdams), who is not only a beauty but seems to think all this pandering around her father is just nonsense? But then again, isn’t she dating Zack (Bradley Cooper), whose life goal seems to be brown-nosing Secretary Cleary enough to unite his family’s DNA with theirs in some sort of Rockefeller/Vanderbilt-style mashup?

Aye, there’s the rub. These characters are a bundle of walking contradictions. Cooper, who showed flashes of promise as Sydney Bristow’s bud on “Alias,” is so adequately reduced to the meathead archetype that he has nothing to do but hurt people and insult his girlfriend into the arms of Wilson.

That, of course, won’t come until the film’s second or third denouement, after its audiences have been run through a “Meet the Fockers”-type ringer. It also won’t resolve itself without a completely unnecessary cameo by Will Ferrell, who just acts big and loud and, oh, I hate him now.

I’m not saying it all should be scrapped and sold for spare parts; hell, I did give the thing 1.5 stars for showing moments where it looked like it would tear off its tether and actually become its own film. But there’s a far more ominous beast awaiting us thanks to the movie’s unchecked success: the extreme, unrated, special collector’s edition DVD, chock full of scenes too putrid for even this film. Expect mounds of unabashed nudity from model starlets who are trying their hand at fleshing out their resume and at least one more scatological joke, if I’ve got this right.

While the R-rated comedy isn’t exactly taking the road never traveled, it has found favor as a production comedy’s newest cash cow. The “American Pie” trilogy, wherein the R-rated comedy found its recent renaissance, had become a DVD juggernaut thanks in part to its unrated cannon. You can expect similar receptions for next month’s R-rated features, “Deuce Bigelow: European Gigolo” and the Steve Carell-vehicle “The 40 Year-Old Virgin.” Even if they tank hard at the theaters - which is almost inevitable, given their August slates - the DVDs will undoubtedly recoup most losses.

I’d say it’s sad that this is what audiences expect out of comedy and mourn the death of true writing, but I’m sure that would ensure my membership in the land of Unhip-topia. So here’s what you’ve been waiting 13 paragraphs for me to say: If you loved “Old School,” boy, this is the movie for you!