I had such hopes for this movie. Really, I did. I thought, hey, something big and silly and infused with self-awareness. Perhaps Jon Favreau is the new pastiche-king, the new Tarantino, the new master of male-centric camp! Perhaps the steampunk aliens want to blow up lots of hastily constructed Western town sets! Wouldn’t that be lovely?

It sure would have been. Which is why it’s so disappointing that “Cowboys and Aliens” doesn’t fail because it’s too stupid, it fails because it tries to be too smart. Enamored with its concept, it riddles the writing, the cast, and the entire design with Western and sci-fi film cliché and in the end topples under the weight of its own over-confidence.

There are six- count ‘em- six writers who worked on this movie. And for what? The story is a Man With No Name (Daniel Craig) who wakes up in the desert with a bizarre mechanism strapped to his arm and no memory of who he is. He wanders back to a town that is literally called Absolution, complete with a meek bartender/doctor (Sam Rockwell), a preacher-man with a salty mouth (Clancy Brown, and the most likeable character in the bunch) and the local wealthy cattle rancher (Harrison Ford). No Name discovers that he’s a criminal named Jake, but before the feds can cart him away, the town is attacked by mysterious flying machines that steal people away using- really- steel lassos. The only person who seems to know anything about them is the mysterious Ella (Olivia Wilde) who seems to think “mysterious” can be conveyed by gaping your mouth open like a fish and staring at the sky.

The movie isn’t poor technically- in terms of camera work, editing, and styling it’s perfectly competent. Favreau makes excellent use of the natural scenery and everyone looks terrific, lit so the details on the spurs and prairie dresses glimmer as brightly as Craig’s pretty, pretty blue eyes. And the “Iron Man” director has a serious pop-culture literacy, which I suppose counts for something.

But somewhere along the way the writers decided that just making a Western blended with a B-sci-fi flick wasn’t enough. They had to throw in an adorable child, an adorable mutt, father/son relationship pathology and fierce yet noble Native Americans who can cure amnesia with chanting. They throw this all in, and the kitchen sink too, but include not an ounce of irony, fun or good humor. Somewhere along the way someone started taking this movie seriously, which basically killed it where it stood.

The one moment of clarity comes when they discover the reason of the aliens’ attack on Earth (spoiler ahead.).

They love gooooolllllddddd!

I’m serious. They want gold. And there is a much-needed release when Ford, scowling through his leather-mitt face, looks incredulously at Craig and exclaims, “Gold?! Well what are they going to do- buy something?!!” The line is much funnier than it has any right to be, because it’s the first time in the whole movie that someone stands up and says, “This whole concept is insane! Why are we acting so dour? For God’s sake can someone just take in for a second that this movie is called ‘Cowboys and Aliens’?!”

But then the moment passes, and there’s a weirdly bloodless action scene between the aliens and the cowboys, and Olivia Wilde sacrifices herself for the greater good, and all is well in the town named Absolution, where the Man With No Name finds…oh, whatever. But I wonder what would have happened if one of the 500 writers on this project wrote that line, and then had an epiphany. What if they went back and re-wrote the script the way it should have been written: with joy and madness and a keen love for the bizarre? “Cowboys and Aliens” could have been sort of wonderful, a masterpiece of insanity. Instead of reaching for the stars, Favreau and his team decided to stay down-to-Earth. That was the biggest mistake of all.

In 2005, director Christopher Nolan released “Batman Begins,” and a new film-making commandment was born: “Thou shalt not smile.” Whatever that film’s excellent points and gifts to the film canon (and believe me, there are many), it will forever be known as the picture that killed the fun in making a superhero movie. Producers, looking for their next cash cows, mined the DC and Marvel universes for their darkest, most nihilistic tales, and found actors who could deliver the best glower to be their protagonists.

Then came Jon Favreau, a man best known for following Vince Vaughn into a pit of sin in “Swingers.” He wanted to make “Iron Man.” But more than that, he wanted to make “Iron Man” what it should be: a comedy. And what do you know, it turns out American audiences also wanted to have a laugh.

“Iron Man 2″ is more of the same- a lot more. This episode has Tony Stark (Robert Downey, Jr.) fighting on several fronts: he’s battling the U.S. Government for control of his Iron Man suit, a rival businessman (Sam Rockwell) who’s trying to build his own suit and a crazed Russian physicist who’s trying to avenge his father’s ruined career. It’s a crowded docket.

There’s no great changes to film culture, no Oscar-winning performances, or fascinating forays into psychology. Stark is a manic, self-serving and self-destructive billionaire playboy. He has a giant suit that fights evil, usually by blowing shit up. It’s simple. It’s straightforward. And it’s awesome.

It’s major gift, of course, is the cast. Downey, reprising his role as the crusader, puts on all of his performances like a well-tailored suit- he always looks good, but it’s never like he’s trying to hard. He’s there, first and foremost, to have a good time. Don Cheadle makes a good replacement for Terrance Howard as Lt. Col. Rhodes, and even Scarlett Johansson, who I usually barely tolerate, is likable (probably because she’s best in films where all she has to do is look hot and try not to talk too much.) And Mickey Rourke, enjoying an actor’s second summer, is terrific as Ivan Vanko, the Russian who might just be smarter than Stark. Rourke, of course, is best when he’s just playing himself. He may not be a physicist (or Russian, for that matter), but he is a hulking, intimidating form, which belies unexpected intelligence. I simply enjoyed watching Rourke move throughout this film, striding confidently through a laboratory wearing a sleeveless shirt that exposes his many worn tattoos along with a snappy pair of spectacles.

Writer Justin Theroux and Favreau both wanted to create something driven by good styling and a sense of fun. One could read into the plot lines- the private business owner versus Big Government, the nature of war in the modern age, blah, blah, blah. Lame, and done before. But you know what is entertaining? A ten-minute long scene where Col. Rhodes and Stark, both in Iron Man suits, gratuitously destroy Stark’s fabulous home in Malibu.

Favfreau’s not a great director, but he is one who delivers on his promises, which is almost as important. He promised us a spicy, funny action flick with nerdy in-jokes, sexy women in catsuits and tons of Shit Blowing Up. He lets “Iron Man” be what’s it’s supposed to be. These days, that’s an art form in itself.

“Couples Retreat,” a painfully unfunny comedy, is a lazy and slapped-together movie. It is constructed around scenes of wasted opportunity and characters with no vitality or humor.

Vince Vaughn, who wrote the script along with co-star Jon Favreau, has to shoulder a lot of the blame. Vaughn, so lively and uninhibited in movies like “The Wedding Crashers” and “Old School”, seems stifled here as a leading man. I can’t help but think that maybe Vaughn would be better served by going back to playing sidekick to actors like Owen Wilson. Vaughn drowns here trying to support the plot and worst of all, does not seem capable of setting others up for laughs.

What is even more frustrating is that instead of at least taking the opportunity to try something new, Vaughn’s Dave fits directly into his increasingly unfunny comfort zone. Dave is a self-involved workingman who meets anyone who suggests that his priorities are out of whack with incredulity. Sounds kind of familiar right?

While there are a couple of moments where Vaughn shows off the rapid-fire, stream-of-consciousness delivery that seemed so fresh a few years ago, it is all rather joyless. Vaughn is just giving the audience what he thinks they want.

The only time the film clicks, is when it puts the whole cast together – something it doesn’t do very often. The film’s best scene has the four couples responding to an overly amorous and inappropriate yoga instructor. It is one of the few moments where the entire cast is given an opportunity to play off of each other, which I found ridiculous, considering the fact the movie is being sold as a gathering of really cool actors.

There are far too many scenes of couples therapy that aren’t funny and don’t take advantage of the gorgeous island location- for a movie set in one of the most beautiful places on Earth, too much of the action takes place indoors. I can’t help but think that the movie was written that way so the actors could enjoy as much beach time as possible- hardly the thinking you want screenwriters basing script decisions on.

Favreau and Vaughn have some nice moments together, but it is more due to their natural chemistry than anything that is in the script and there work here is light years away from their classic pairings in “Swingers” and “Made”.

Jason Bateman and Kristen Bell do solid work as Jason and Cynthia, the uptight and uber-organized couple that plans the retreat to help their marriage. Bell in particular adds some genuine emotion to the more serious scenes, which almost made me believe her marriage to Jason – she definitely deserves better material.
First-time director Peter Billingsley (yes the guy who played Ralphie in “A Christmas Story”) does a decent job keeping the film moving but misses a few chances for some big laughs, particularly a scene involving a guitar hero battle between Vaughn and an employee at the resort. Billingsley’s direction robs Vaughn of any chance to cut loose and have fun. Like a lot of the film, the scene is all set up and no punch line.

I would love to think that “Couples Retreat” will serve as a wake-up call for Vince Vaughn and that next year we will get something funny and daring from an actor who used to be both. Then again, I said the same thing last year after seeing the horrendously wretched “Four Christmases”. I shudder when I think about what we might be subjected to next.