Wipeout

It took four credited screenwriters to pen a script in which every other word is "dude" or "bra"; but then, how one "writes" or "directs" a film that's essentially 90 minutes of Matthew McConaughey's super-stoned summer-vacay footage remains equally un­fathomable, as does its whispered release into theaters before its inevitable voyage direct to Starz, which financed this bummer from McConaughey's production company, J.K. Livin', so named for a line from Dazed and Confused, which he's never stopped making or, for that matter, l-i-v-i-n. The UT Longhorn with the short attention span plays Steve Addington, a world-famous surfer who...ah...urm. Look, there's barely a plot—something to do with a reality show, a videogame, two months without waves in Southern California and Willie Nelson—and what story there is turns so convoluted it doesn't make much sense if you're stoned or stone-cold sober. It's nothing more than an excuse for McConaughey to chillax sans shirt or shoes, awesome; hang with his bras, among them Woody Harrelson as his half-baked manager and Nelson as his pot dealer; ride some waves, duuude; and bang some naked chicks, all right, all right, all right. From the director of the acclaimed documentary Hands on a Hard Body, which only goes to show how easy it is to make a movie about people who won't stop touching a car.