Four years after HBO’s Entourage came off our telly screens, writer-director Doug Ellin brings his creation to the big screen. With the original cast of Kevin Connolly, Adrian Grenier, Kevin Dillon, Jerry Ferrara and Jeremy Piven all returning, the Marky Mark (Wahlberg) produced show-turned-movie hopes to capture the same success that once saw the hit programme regarded as one of the best on TV.
While recovering from his failed nine day marriage, megastar Vincent Chase (Grenier) – with the guidance of his ‘entourage’: manager Eric (Connolly), driver Turtle (Ferrara), and older half-bro and fellow actor, Johnny (Dillon) – decides he wants to “do something different”. When former agent and now studio big wig, Ari Gold (Piven), offers him the chance to be in his new multi-million dollar film, Hyde, the acting heartthrob jumps at the chance – as long as he can direct it too! With no experience of helming a movie, and without the money to finish it, a battle with the Texan financiers – led by the clueless Travis McCredle (Haley Joel Osment) – ensues to try and ensure Vincent’s vision becomes a reality.
Like a 14-year-old’s idealistic version of paradise, Entourage – full of boobs, sex, flashy cars and more sex – is one bikini clad model away from being an R. Kelly music video. Introduced to ‘the boys’ through a not-so-fascinating Piers Morgan interview (for the benefit of those who have not suffered through eight series of the TV show), we are left scratching our collective heads as to how these four dull, superficial men have made it so big in Tinseltown.
As walking condom, Johnny (Dillon), openly admits: “everything we do is to also get laid!” Despite appearing to suffer with an acute case of verbal diarrhoea throughout, the laughing stock tag along brother hits the nail on the film’s big, stupid head. The illusion that this is anything more than a showboater’s wet dream is a façade; pool parties, random celebrity cameos (Liam Neeson, Pharrell Williams, David Spader), sex, sex and more sex is the be all and end all of this tedious mess.
It’s loud, crass and plot-lite, preying on Hollywood stereotypes and clichés (the women, the drugs, the cars) in an utterly predictable, unintelligent and, unforgivably, witless fashion. Amongst all the partying, swearing and shagging, who actually remembers that a fictitious mediocre-looking film is being made? Its glitzy, foul-mouthed approach wears thin extremely quickly, as we are guided through tales of sexual conquests and pregnancy dramas which bore us to silent, long, painful tears.
As we reluctantly crave for more Jeremy Piven – who constantly appeared one argument away from a stress-induced aneurysm – to provide a moderately entertaining turn as the shouty-shouty Ari, a sad indictment of the film’s attempted humour is that the funniest line of the entire affair – that, shockingly, didn’t make reference to genitalia – was from retired footballer, Thierry Henry. Ironically, the Frenchman’s line – just a few scenes into Entourage – perfectly encapsulated what we were all thinking: “I don’t have time for that shit!”