Wild Hogs

One Harley-driving suburban weekend warrior in Wild Hogs submits meekly to a bossy wife who treats him like a dog, literally, snapping at him to ”Stay!” and ”Come!” Another highflier gets dumped by his swimsuit model of a girlfriend because of his recent brokeness. One’s married to a nice lady who treats her husband like a second child because he acts like one. And the fourth, a single computer programmer, is just scared silly by girls — why else would he turn them off so reliably by securing his eyeglasses with a head strap?

Women, hmmmph! They can make a bunch of guys want to blast out of Cincinnati and hit the road like fans of Easy Rider, ditching their easy-waistband pants in favor of black leather. Tim Allen (the childish one), John Travolta (the dumped one), Martin Lawrence (the whipped one), and William H. Macy (the nerdy one) aren’t a natural fit together — each demonstrates moments of thespian discomfort, masked as actorly camaraderie. (Ha-ha, the guys go commando in a swimming hole!) But then, nothing about this sputtering midlife-crisis family comedy is natural except the timeless notion that even the most latte-tamed baby boomer has the power to reclaim his inner Iron John. Ray Liotta provides the one true blast of comedic energy as the leader of a real, more pugnacious head-butting gang who tangles with the four amigos. Think the Hogs can take him down? Hear them squeal, then roar.