Wild Hogs: Critic Reviews

Women, hmmmph!

The main thing about the guys in Wild Hogs -- the main source of the movie's fumbling attempts at humor -- is that they're not gay. Really. Seriously. No way.

Mind-sodomisingly mediocre family comedy.

This movie stinks of exhaust and desperation.

The gags are witless and surprisingly gross (insect splatter, feces disposal bags, inadvertent homosexual come-ons and the like). The four actors, each accustomed to being at the center, never develop any rhythm, any chemistry, any anything.

The film's a bumptious weekend ride: The engine could use tuning and the plugs are shot, but it gets you most of the way there.

This shallow comedy imagines itself as an amalgam of St. Elmo's Fire, The Wild Bunch, and Deliverance.

What financial strings had to be pulled to get John Travolta, Tim Allen, Martin Lawrence and William H. Macy to sign on for this second-class City Slickers?

The movie frees you of the belief that making it in Hollywood requires finely honed skills. If the writer and director of this coarsely honed sitcom could get hired, then the studio doors must be wide open.

Wild Hogs isn't wild so much as a mild evocation of better fish-out-of-water flicks.

This could have been a City Slickers on cycles. But it's an incredibly lazy movie, from the on-the-nose casting to the soundtrack ('70s vintage road rock) to the script to the scouting of locations.

This is just another waste of time I'd really hate for you to undergo -- and pay for.

Is this the best we can do in the realm of star-driven commercial comedy? If so, I'll take Norbit. I'll take Because I Said So. I'll take I'll Take Sweden.

Slack direction from Walt Becker (National Lampoon's Van Wilder) sullies this formula comedy, but the cast is agreeable, particularly Marisa Tomei as the diner owner who falls for the constipated Macy.

Wild Hogs isn't as jaw-droppingly awful as its trailers suggest.

If Wild Hogs went hog wild into comic anarchy -- heck, even creativity -- it might have been worthy of its overqualified cast. As it stands, this weak effort will bring them sacks of money, but no respect.

Eminently forgettable.

Never fails to take the low road. It's a waste of celluloid, filled with potty humor, gay jokes and the unfortunate transformation of real actor William H. Macy into a living crash-test dummy.

Uninspired script and broad slapstick yuks won't earn this any plaudits, but slick, safe package should do OK with North American mall auds.

'A lot can happen on the road to nowhere,' reads the tagline on the poster for Wild Hogs, a comedy that also illustrates exactly how nothing can happen on the road to nowhere.

A little cute cussing, a few decent jokes, a lot of sight gags involving spills on the bikes these 'Mild' Hogs get by on being good-natured, and willing to trade a little star power for the chance to ride and get paid for it.

Boy, is this one lame wheezer of a movie. Wild Hogs actually feels as though it might take longer to watch than it did to write.

Allegedly, the picture was shot in picturesque New Mexico. Effectively, it might as well be picturesque New Liskeard.

Wild Hogs is more tired, worn out, and sagging than its protagonists -- an arthritic comedy whose humor is below mediocre and whose drama is cringe-worthy.

The fun comedic turns by the starry quartet partly makes up for the predictable broad humor of this vulgar road comedy.