Star Duo McConaughey & Harrelson's Apple TV Series 'Brothers' Divides Critics

The enduring friendship between Matthew McConaughey and Woody Harrelson, two sons of Texas who transitioned from comedy to dramatic roles, has long captivated Hollywood. Their bond, which began in the 1990s, was cemented in popular culture by their acclaimed collaboration in the first season of HBO’s True Detective, hailed as one of television’s finest single seasons. This profound connection, often characterized by widespread discussion of their similarities, even led the actors themselves to speculate if they might be brothers. This intriguing possibility serves as the foundation for their new Apple TV+ comedy, Brothers.

The premise for Brothers, as acknowledged in its opening, is rooted in a “true rumor.” Harrelson once revealed that McConaughey’s mother claimed a past intimacy with his father, sparking the notion that they could be half-brothers. The Apple TV+ sitcom fictionalizes this anecdote, centering on a storyline where “Ma Mac” (Holland Taylor) drunkenly shares the same story with Harrelson before retracting it the next day. Undeterred, Harrelson imposes himself on McConaughey’s life at his Austin-area ranch, creating one catastrophe after another. This chaotic period unfolds as McConaughey simultaneously attempts to launch a political career. Determined to uncover the truth about his parentage, Harrelson covertly investigates his father’s past and tries to collect McConaughey’s DNA. Throughout their adventures and occasional disagreements, the pair realize their deep bond transcends any potential blood ties.

McConaughey and Harrelson are credited as co-creators of Brothers alongside David West Read (Schitt’s Creek) and showrunner Lee Eisenberg (Jury Duty). The ensemble cast includes Natalie Martinez and Brittany Ishibashi as the stars’ long-suffering wives, Valentina and Joy, whose roles are largely defined by their reactions to their husbands’ antics. Lisa Gilroy plays Gwen, McConaughey’s emotionally detached and ruthless campaign manager, who offers wickedly caustic lines about his celebrity and political aspirations. The series also features Skyler Gisondo as an underused ex-fiancé and explores nascent romances among the children, though these B-plots often sag with infectious boredom due to their thin development.

From its outset, Brothers is unmistakably anchored by the formidable charm and chemistry of its two lead actors. The show borrows heavily from the blueprint of classic sitcoms, where one character’s invasion of another’s ordered life generates hijinks and hilarity. Whether it’s hunting trips, a new dog, or a simple drink spiraling into disaster, Harrelson acts as the primary catalyst for chaos, with McConaughey often left to clean up the mess. The humor, while working effectively, doesn’t strive for innovation, instead relying on familiar sitcom tropes and low-hanging fruit for easy laughs, reminiscent of shows like My Name is Earl and Two and a Half Men. Across its eight half-hour episodes, Brothers offers a lighthearted antidote to more serious streaming fare.

The show’s greatest strength lies in McConaughey and Harrelson’s self-aware performances, as they lean into their public perceptions. The fictionalized Harrelson is portrayed as a free-spirited hippie who lives in a mural-painted van, eschews air conditioning, and is rarely without a joint. Conversely, McConaughey embodies his folksy persona 24/7, quoting commercials to his son and acting, in Harrelson’s words, “like a belt buckle come to life.” The series sprinkles surface-level references to their filmographies, such as the True Detective theme playing during a DNA test or McConaughey’s son driving his actual car from Dazed and Confused. These allusions, while amusing, rarely provoke a reaction stronger than a smile, prioritizing comfort over deeper insight or self-scrutiny.

Despite the undeniable chemistry between its leads, Brothers has been critiqued for feeling thin compared to their prior work, particularly True Detective, often resembling an overlong comedy sketch. The show generally avoids getting messy or unflattering; Harrelson’s pot-smoking is acknowledged, but his views on broader issues like COVID are left untouched. Similarly, McConaughey’s fictional gubernatorial bid, a nod to his real-life flirtation with political office, serves primarily as a plot driver without articulating any specific political beliefs or engaging with the complexities of real-world Texas politics. This reluctance to delve deeper into its characters’ lives or contemporary issues leaves a vacuum where a stronger sense of purpose could reside.

A notable exception to the show’s underdeveloped supporting cast is Holland Taylor’s performance as “Ma Mac,” who emerges as one of the show’s secret weapons. Taylor delivers a hard-drinking, foul-mouthed, gun-toting character who is absolutely delightful in every scene. Despite comparisons to her role in Two and a Half Men, Ma Mac is entirely Taylor’s unique creation, sporting a frightful suntan and issuing withering put-downs. Her dynamic with Harrelson, who often plays the befuddled fall guy to her scheming, makes for a great duo, providing the closest thing the series has to an antagonist, albeit one not to be taken too seriously.

Ultimately, Brothers is an easygoing binge that relies on the genuine charisma of its real-life best friends. While it’s far from a groundbreaking television event, it delivers on the promise of seeing Harrelson and McConaughey together again, showcasing a chemistry that cannot be faked. The show concludes with a tease for a potential second season, implying a need for more thoughtful plotting to evolve beyond its current state of being “alright, alright, alright.” The first two episodes of Brothers premiered on September 23 on Apple TV+, with subsequent episodes airing weekly.