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What Is It About...Matthew McConaughey?
Rowing down the Amazon, living in a trailer park, being his own best friend. Prepare for an overdose of McNuggets
By Dave Smith
Published: Dec 20, 2007
Photography by ©Globe Photos
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“Ma-KON-a-hay.” McConaughey. Since his first memorable sighting in Richard Linklater’s (still) hilarious 1993 debut, Dazed and Confused, Matthew McConaughey has enjoyed steady work and, with the exception of Sahara (more on that later), has helped consistently line the pockets of many a studio. Ditto for his own production company, j.k. livin’ productions, named after the credo which guides him: “Just keep livin’.” The McConaughey motto, while beautiful for its childlike simplicity, hopefully helps thicken his insistently shirtless skin. For whatever reason, his professional and personal life triggers a tsunami of heated debate among fans and detractors alike.
Things started off promisingly for McConaughey. Shortly after Dazed, he snagged the starring role in A Time to Kill, based on the John Grisham thriller of the same name. He won the MTV Movie Award for Best Breakthrough Performance. But for all the critical acclaim, the momentum never served up big money leading roles. After EdTV and a slew of supporting parts, Paramount finally stepped up and wagered $180 million that he could carry Sahara. That’s a big desert.
Prior to the release of Sahara, McConaughey promoted the film by sailing down the Amazon River and trekking to Mali. No wonder the movie lost $80 million. What was he expecting – to generate ticket sales among the Shipibo Indians while tripping naked on Ayahuasca?! Then wing on over to Mali to pry ten francs a head from an impoverished labor force – 80% of whom are completely reliant on farming and fishing, and 10% of whom are nomads? And cute idea trucking the promo wagon to the actual Sahara. I’m guessing that whoever signed off on that junket is probably now selling chicle for a living.
The Sahara debacle didn’t down Matthew McConaughey. It merely returned him to his bread and butter as one of few go-to guys for romantic comedy leads, aka “chick flicks.” It doesn’t matter that the characters have the depth of a thimble full of water, McConaughey is the pleasure model – he’s eye candy of the simplest variety. He’s got the kind of talent you rate based on your inner annoyance level and whether that stays orange or goes to red. He’s become the American Hugh Grant sans wardrobe, fashion sense and mortgage (much more on all that later). But that’s fine, because you don’t go in expecting young lion DeNiro. We (the men) are only in the theater because you’ve dragged us out on date night to see some romantic fluff comedy. I know. I’ve been there. But at the end of the day, McConaughey goes down like Pepto Bismol – that Pretty in Pink sliding down your throat, supposedly leaving you feeling better than before, but you’re just not sold. And while the aftertaste is weird, it’s not necessarily bad.
McConaughey blogger, Dan-The-Man, concurs: “You don’t go see McConaughey flicks because you seek depth or insight into universal truths. Because it ain’t happening.”
Until now, Dan. The coming year will bear the fruit of McConaughey’s partnership with fellow Longview High School classmate turned writer-director, S.R. Bindler, for what might be the worst movie title in the history of American cinema: Surfer Dude. Direct from McConaughey’s own website: “Matthew’s next starring role will be as Steve Addington…a surfer who loves to surf.” I’m reeling from the information overload. For a more fully fleshed-out description, it’s best to turn to the promotional professionals at j.k. livin productions for their synopsis: “A soulful surfer has an existential crisis.”
I’d like to be speechless, but the gig doesn’t allow it. Now I don’t know about you, but I’d rather shave my head with a cheese grater and chew on a ball of tin foil than drop a tenner to watch this honey-baked ham try to figure out why he’s here. But just when you thought the fun was over, McConaughey will leave one beach after Surfer Dude, only to return to another to give a long-awaited gift to movie-lovers the world over…wait for it …a feature-length reprise of Magnum P.I.
Getting to know the real McConaughey, if at all possible, requires delving into his personal life. If anything, I find that more gratifying. For starters, the guy lives in an Airstream trailer at the Malibu RV Park at an $88 a night clip. Who in the hell does he think he is, Jim Rockford?! At least Rockford had an excuse – he charged $200 per day but took sex over payment half the time. Matthew McConaughey pulls in $8 million a film.
If that doesn’t raise an eyebrow, McConaughey’s girlfriend du jour, drop-dead gorgeous, 22 year-old Brazilian model, Camilla Alves, lives in the adjacent Airstream. Why bother cooking your babe a meal in a Viking kitchen in a Malibu mansion when you can crouch like a catcher in the dirt, rolling weenies on a Hibachi? On that note, a police buddy of mine tells me that from a low-flying aircraft, the McConaughey homestead looks like two foil-wrapped Dodger dogs in a steamer. Apparently, McConaughey not only prefers his home mobile, but he also lives according to the tenets of the park. “I like to meet strangers, you know. There's an unwritten rule in trailer parks that if the door is shut, you don't knock. If it's open, come on by,” he said to Cosmopolitan in 2005.
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Things started off promisingly for McConaughey. Shortly after Dazed, he snagged the starring role in A Time to Kill, based on the John Grisham thriller of the same name. He won the MTV Movie Award for Best Breakthrough Performance. But for all the critical acclaim, the momentum never served up big money leading roles. After EdTV and a slew of supporting parts, Paramount finally stepped up and wagered $180 million that he could carry Sahara. That’s a big desert.
Prior to the release of Sahara, McConaughey promoted the film by sailing down the Amazon River and trekking to Mali. No wonder the movie lost $80 million. What was he expecting – to generate ticket sales among the Shipibo Indians while tripping naked on Ayahuasca?! Then wing on over to Mali to pry ten francs a head from an impoverished labor force – 80% of whom are completely reliant on farming and fishing, and 10% of whom are nomads? And cute idea trucking the promo wagon to the actual Sahara. I’m guessing that whoever signed off on that junket is probably now selling chicle for a living.
The Sahara debacle didn’t down Matthew McConaughey. It merely returned him to his bread and butter as one of few go-to guys for romantic comedy leads, aka “chick flicks.” It doesn’t matter that the characters have the depth of a thimble full of water, McConaughey is the pleasure model – he’s eye candy of the simplest variety. He’s got the kind of talent you rate based on your inner annoyance level and whether that stays orange or goes to red. He’s become the American Hugh Grant sans wardrobe, fashion sense and mortgage (much more on all that later). But that’s fine, because you don’t go in expecting young lion DeNiro. We (the men) are only in the theater because you’ve dragged us out on date night to see some romantic fluff comedy. I know. I’ve been there. But at the end of the day, McConaughey goes down like Pepto Bismol – that Pretty in Pink sliding down your throat, supposedly leaving you feeling better than before, but you’re just not sold. And while the aftertaste is weird, it’s not necessarily bad.
McConaughey blogger, Dan-The-Man, concurs: “You don’t go see McConaughey flicks because you seek depth or insight into universal truths. Because it ain’t happening.” Until now, Dan. The coming year will bear the fruit of McConaughey’s partnership with fellow Longview High School classmate turned writer-director, S.R. Bindler, for what might be the worst movie title in the history of American cinema: Surfer Dude. Direct from McConaughey’s own website: “Matthew’s next starring role will be as Steve Addington…a surfer who loves to surf.” I’m reeling from the information overload. For a more fully fleshed-out description, it’s best to turn to the promotional professionals at j.k. livin productions for their synopsis: “A soulful surfer has an existential crisis.”
I’d like to be speechless, but the gig doesn’t allow it. Now I don’t know about you, but I’d rather shave my head with a cheese grater and chew on a ball of tin foil than drop a tenner to watch this honey-baked ham try to figure out why he’s here. But just when you thought the fun was over, McConaughey will leave one beach after Surfer Dude, only to return to another to give a long-awaited gift to movie-lovers the world over…wait for it …a feature-length reprise of Magnum P.I.
Getting to know the real McConaughey, if at all possible, requires delving into his personal life. If anything, I find that more gratifying. For starters, the guy lives in an Airstream trailer at the Malibu RV Park at an $88 a night clip. Who in the hell does he think he is, Jim Rockford?! At least Rockford had an excuse – he charged $200 per day but took sex over payment half the time. Matthew McConaughey pulls in $8 million a film.
If that doesn’t raise an eyebrow, McConaughey’s girlfriend du jour, drop-dead gorgeous, 22 year-old Brazilian model, Camilla Alves, lives in the adjacent Airstream. Why bother cooking your babe a meal in a Viking kitchen in a Malibu mansion when you can crouch like a catcher in the dirt, rolling weenies on a Hibachi? On that note, a police buddy of mine tells me that from a low-flying aircraft, the McConaughey homestead looks like two foil-wrapped Dodger dogs in a steamer. Apparently, McConaughey not only prefers his home mobile, but he also lives according to the tenets of the park. “I like to meet strangers, you know. There's an unwritten rule in trailer parks that if the door is shut, you don't knock. If it's open, come on by,” he said to Cosmopolitan in 2005.
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