In great works of narrative storytelling, an expertly crafted first line should set the tone for what lies ahead. Whether “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times” or “In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice…,” these purposeful pieces of prose prepared readers properly.
The same goes for film, too. And while the filmic brand extension of television’s “Entourage” is far from great, its creator Doug Ellin certainly knew how to kick off the movie. As Vincent Chase’s posse approaches his supermodel-filled yacht off the coast of Ibiza, Johnny “Drama” giddily remarks, “I could jerk it before we get there!”
The whole movie resembles masturbation, a series of self-serving pleasures delivered on demand. For an hour and 45 minutes, a pornographically extreme string of celebrity cameos decks out a contemporary “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.” Ellin reunites the entourage for an orgy of wealth, fame, and fully exposed breasts. So, in essence, nothing changed from show to movie.
I am certainly not immune to the pleasures provided by such a film, but I have to acknowledge that such a masturbatory form of pleasure is juvenile, easy, and even a little lazy. It’s hollow. Ellin presents no compelling reason to resuscitate these dormant characters except to have them revel in the same debauched antics that occupied them for eight seasons (and are a mere Google search away for everyone else).
Marshall and the Movies 
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