I Just Wanna Ride, Just Ride, Sally, Ride

When an actor hits the wrong side of fifty, there are very few choices for him; he could continue trying to be an action hero while trying to hid his wrinkles (see Sylvester Stallone), move behind the camera (see Clint Eastwood) or out of the business all together (see The Governator). But the most popular option is for an actor to make light of his oldness in some sort of mid-life crisis flick. Sometimes it is executed successfully (see city slickers) and then there is Wild Hogs.

The premise is paint by numbers; four buddies are hitting middle age and things are not working out the way they thought it would. John Travolta (Welcome Back Kotter) is in the middle of a divorce from his sugar momma. Tim Allen (Home Improvement) is too obsessed with his job. Martin Lawrence (Martin), is married to his former arch nemesis from his sitcom who want him to give up his dream of making a How To book to get back to work. And then there is William H. Macy (Pleasantville) the token klutz of the group.

Once they all decide they need more adventure in their lives, they all decide to take their motorcycles all the way to the Pacific with no maps, GPS, or cell phones. But it is when the group ends up in a New Mexico biker bar does the movie goes into movie cliché overload. If you cannot write the ending of the movie when the antagonists show up, led by Ray Liotta (Field of Dreams) and Zeke from Lost, you must not have seen too many movies.

The film does manage a few laughs throughout, none of which include the numerous naked dudes (seriously how is this PG-13), but it is never a good sign when the best ones are reserved for the afterthought that runs during the credits. And don’t expect to care about the big surprise guest appearance at the end of the movie unless you yourself are over fifty. In fact if you are under fifty, just stay away from the movie and its inevitable sequels.

Wild Hogs gets a on my Terror Alert Scale.