There are several problems with Dupree, not least that there is no filmmaking to speak of, just a progression of competent-looking scenes in which the actors appear to have successfully hit their marks. The directors, the brothers Anthony and Joe Russo, have made a few other features, including Welcome to Collinwood, an unnecessary redo of Big Deal on Madonna Street that nonetheless looked like someone was paying attention to the lighting and how objects and bodies fit in the frame, which isn't the case here. That said, they do manage to shoot Hudson most attractively in a fantasy sequence that finds her promenading in a bikini, thus fulfilling her primary function in the film as a decorative accessory.
Despite Hudson's itsy-bitsy bikini and that dollop of butter, You, Me and Dupree remains a limp attempt to wed a romantic comedy to a buddy comedy, largely because the filmmakers see women as visitors from another planet, which is more or less what they now are in Hollywood. Not surprisingly, as is often the case with comedies like this, the important love in the film — the one that dares not speak its name, but compels the guys to toss around the word “homo” so no one gets the wrong idea — isn't between a man and woman, but two male friends. Considering that Molly comes off as such a killjoy, clucking and scolding and nagging like mom, you understand why Carl and Dupree might want to sneak off — so do we.
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