It’s almost like a down-home version of a premise Charlie Kaufman (or perhaps more accurately, one of his admirers) might have come up with in the early 2000s: Matthew McConaughey and Woody Harrelson play themselves as best friends with the added wrinkle that they might actually be brothers.
Amazingly, Apple TV’s “Brothers” is a riff on a real-life (and apparently unconfirmed) rumor based on McConaughey’s mother knowing Harrelson’s father when they were younger. Family history aside, there’s something satisfyingly silly about the idea of an acting duo whose friendship was crystallized in the dark-hued (if often mordantly funny) first season of “True Detective” reteaming for what is, essentially, an old-fashioned blended-family sitcom. Certainly neither McConaughey, who remains a notable big-screen leading man even after a pandemic-era break; nor Harrelson, who’s an in-demand character actor, needs to do a show like “Brothers.” So they must have co-created it — along with sitcom vets Lee Eisenberg (“The Office”) and David West Read (“Schitt’s Creek”) — out of love. Just like family.
That would go a long way towards explaining the homey yet dopey quality of the series itself, which flies in the face of its considerable pedigree. McConaughey and Harrelson are both terrific actors with clear personas that can disguise their surprising range. Harrelson even got his start killing it on a sitcom as a replacement bartender who became a fixture on “Cheers.” But placed together as mildly mismatched lifelong buddies, both actors resort to soft, squishy caricature. At least Harrelson has some more outsized qualities to spoof: his semi-incoherent political beliefs (anarchist, he claims), his fondness for marijuana, his environmentally-minded principles. In the first episode, he gets into it with an Uber driver over using the air conditioning; in the second, he explains to McConaughey that hunting animals is actually worse than murdering people.
McConaughey has played over-the-top figures in the movies, but here seems understandably hesitant to characterize himself as one under his own name.
Instead, McConaughey comports himself more like he’s running a political campaign — which, as it happens, this version of himself actually is. The story is ostensibly set in motion by Harrelson taking his family, shaken by the dissolution of his older daughter’s engagement, on an unannounced visit to McConaughey’s Austin ranch. Once there, Harrelson learns from McConaughey’s functional alcoholic mother (Holland Taylor) that she may or may not have had a dalliance with Harrelson’s father during one of her divorces from McConaughey’s now-departed dad — his parents’ multiple marriages to each other is one of many real-life details adapted for the series. Woody is dying to know the truth, but hesitates to tell his buddy this possible news because McConaughey has just gotten it in his head that he should run for governor of Texas, in part as a tribute to his father (or at least, the man he thinks was his father).
That political decision is also vaguely inspired by a rumor that Joe Rogan might do the same, but “Brothers” is too folksily polite to turn Rogan’s outsized influence into any kind of a joke. In fact, McConaughey can only lightly dismiss the possibility of a Rogan-run Texas, noting that he has no problem with Rogan but that the state is unlikely to elect a Jersey native. It’s a small moment that nonetheless establishes early on how “Brothers” will not be going for laughs wherever possible.
On its own, that can be a nice, relaxed quality for a sitcom. But there also isn’t exactly a wealth of Texas atmosphere in a show that’s set largely around a rich guy’s ranch and revolves around easy-to-answer questions: Are two friends actually related? Will a mildly insensitive father (Harrelson) realize he needs to bond more closely with his daughters? Will actors who have experienced much success get a shot at new, different forms of success? It doesn’t take long for the show’s gentleness to resemble kid gloves.
The sitcommier premises of a few episodes have more promise: Harrelson’s daughter insisting on joining a McConaughey father-son hunting trip to spite her own dad; Harrelson and McConaughey donning elaborate disguises to prove they can start a band without aid of their celebrity; assorted Valentine’s Day-themed shenanigans. Harrelson in particular has some funny deadpan line deliveries, and the show sneaks in some sly references alongside the obvious “Dazed and Confused” jokes; one early McConaughey campaign ad features ample footage of Josh Lucas, without anyone bothering to call it out. Weirdly, someone does call it A.I. despite it featuring mostly movie clips, raising the question of whether some of Hollywood’s give-it-a-chance A.I. boosters actually know what that tech is.
But the novelty of watching two good actors engage in light sitcom plotting, chased with a few semi-painful scenes of McConaughey genuinely attempting to make a difference in people’s lives, makes “Brothers” feel like the kind of high-profile sitcom networks used to occasionally throw money at in thrall to various overqualified stars.
In the streaming era, there’s no shortage of that high-level talent — or of cable-style profanity in the dialogue, which is about the only thing that prevents “Brothers” from sounding like an anodyne family show. What’s missing are the fundamentals of comic construction: escalation, clever reversals, any sense of social satire or original comic stakes. Instead, the show coasts on its stars’ fame and charm, and its ability to attract a few famous guest stars, mostly playing themselves (though one prominent young actor joins the regular cast for the final stretch).
If you want to see Matthew McConaughey interact and jam with a cast of quirky characters with a strong sense of place … well, he recently released a movie called “The Rivals of Amziah King.” It runs shorter than eight episodes of “Brothers” and it’s a lot more rewarding.
“Brothers” is now streaming on Apple TV.