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“You have all the hallmarks of a world-class politician,” campaign manager Gwen (Lisa Gilroy) tells her client Matthew McConaughey (Matthew McConaughey). “However, your Achilles’ heel is that you’ve been a celebrity
for so long that your brain has turned into a big old sloppy pile of goo.”
The literal premise of the Apple TV comedy “Brothers” is that McConaughey and his friend/fellow Texan/erstwhile co-star Woody Harrelson, also playing himself, may be biological relatives, a possibility they explore while shacked up at McConaughey’s Austin-area ranch. (The actors are also credited as co-creators alongside David West Read and showrunner Lee Eisenberg.) But the comic premise is something closer to Gwen’s observation: that beyond their state of origin and a certain folksy charisma, these two besties share the brain disease that is fame, and when together exacerbate each other’s symptoms.
“Brothers” has plenty of scenes that deliver on this “Dumb and Dumber”-adjacent concept. The pair don ridiculous costumes to prove people don’t tolerate their music just because they’re recognizable, and bicker about hunting (country boy McConaughey is pro, vegan Harrelson is con) on a drive in a keyed-up version of the “True Detective” car rides. This platonic — or perhaps filial — chemistry still isn’t enough to make “Brothers” feel like a real show instead of an overlong comedy sketch.
Take Gwen, who’s consulting McConaughey on a run for governor. The storyline is a nod to the star’s flirtation with political office, which got serious enough in 2022 to necessitate an announcement that he wouldn’t throw his hat in the ring. But it’s mostly a means to give McConaughey’s fictional avatar a more active plot driver than wondering whether he and Harrelson might be related. The gubernatorial bid certainly isn’t there because McConaughey feels the need to articulate any specific political beliefs, a vagueness “Brothers” gently mocks but also indulges. Real-life Texas is in the middle of a highly contentious senate race; TV Texas is a world with no Greg Abbott, nor a president who’s already a cautionary tale in what happens when pop culture and politics collide. Acknowledging either might mean “Brothers” would have to be something weightier and more fleshed-out than a dopey (in a fun way!) hangout.
A reluctance to get messy or in any way unflattering is a common quality of star-driven shows, and it’s seemingly magnified when two of them are portraying themselves. “Brothers” prefers a soft poke to a sharp jab: Harrelson is a pot-smoking hippie who declines AC because he’s “off freon,” but when he makes a passing mention of COVID, it’s not to share his take on masking and vaccines; McConaughey quotes his own Lincoln commercials when giving his son a pep talk, but the greatest insecurity he’ll cop to is caring too much about being a good husband and father.
Instead of real insight or self-scrutiny, we get surface-level references to the friends’ filmographies. (These callbacks are oddly skewed toward McConaughey’s CV over Harrelson’s, perhaps because the show takes place on his turf.) The “True Detective” theme plays as a character collects samples for a DNA test, while McConaughey lets his son Wyatt (Nolan Almeida) borrow his actual car from “Dazed and Confused” to play dress-up. These allusions rarely inspire a reaction stronger than an amused smile, nor do they try especially hard to do so. “Brothers” is content to trade in its dynamic duo’s public images rather than subvert or complicate them, which is fine — though the resulting vacuum is one of several blank spaces where a real sense of purpose could be.
“Brothers” is, of course, a show about family, and the show populates its ensemble with lightly distorted bizarro versions of the friends’ loved ones. Holland Taylor cakes on makeup and thick layers of twang as McConaughey’s mother, known to all as “Ma Mac,” whose drunken ramblings prompt Harrelson to do some genetic detective work. No one else makes as strong an impression. In particular, the wives — their show names are Valentina (Natalie Martinez) and Joy (Brittany Ishibashi), but their role and function is accurately summed up as “the wives” — are given almost nothing to do besides roll their eyes at their husbands’ antics. Woody and Matthew forgot about Valentine’s Day? Boys will be boys!
The kids get more stories of their own, though not ones that ever threaten to pull the spotlight away from their dads. The Harrelsons first set out for Austin (in a solar-powered converted schoolbus, of course) after Woody’s daughter Olive (Highdee Kuan) breaks off her engagement. While I’m always happy to see Skyler Gisondo of “The Righteous Gemstones,” who shows up halfway through the season as the ex-fiancé, he’s underused in a role whose definition stops at “clingy drip.” A romance between Wyatt and Olive’s sister Kai (Oona Yaffe) — carefully excused with repeated reminders that Kai is adopted, so there’s no way they’re doing incest — is equally thin. “Brothers” has eyes for only one central relationship, and every second spent on satellite pairings sags with infectious boredom.
For long stretches of the midseason, “Brothers” seems to forget about family intrigue and political ambitions entirely to focus on a harebrained scheme of the week. This straight-sitcom setup, with little serialization to speak of, seems to be where the show’s natural instincts lie. But to justify making room in two packed schedules — we’re repeatedly told McConaughey also has a lucrative tequila brand and multiple courses he designed at UT Austin — “Brothers” has to limply gesture at something more. The season’s final moments tease a potential follow-up, complete with a meta crack about “bandwidth for a franchise.” But to produce a sequel, a project ought to know what it is in the first place. “Brothers” never feels like it does.
The first two episodes of “Brothers” will premiere on Apple TV on Sep. 23, with remaining episodes airing weekly on Wednesdays.
