Owen Wilson has moved up in the world: He’s gone from crashing weddings to crashing entire marriages. In this listless farce, his eponymous thirtysomething ne’er-do-well takes up residence on the sofa of a childhood best friend (Matt Dillon) and his newlywed bride (Kate Hudson), wreaking the kind of comic havoc that will catch only the most nearsighted of audience members by surprise. Played by Wilson at the end of his stoner-doofus tether, Dupree walks around in the nude, backs up the toilet, barges in on his friends having sex, and for an encore, nearly burns the whole house down. Then, after an hour or more of these tiresome houseguest-from-hell antics, directors Anthony and Joe Russo try to turn Dupree into a kind of enlightened mystic—a slacker Sufi—immune from the emasculating effects of marriage and grown-up responsibility. At which point the movie goes from being another mildly depressing lump of unrealized comic potential to being an actively unpleasant experience.