Another raunch-fest from the Apatow sausage factory, “Wanderlust” is basically a “Green Acres”-style fish-out-of-water farce updated for today’s audiences with lots of references to genitalia, an abundance of jokes about poop and drugs, and plenty of comic nudity. It’s a movie made by yahoos for yahoos, who will chortle over every repetition of “naughty” words and find the thought of former “Friend” Jennifer Aniston baring her breasts (even if the result is tastefully pixilated) a source of hilarity.

Aniston co-stars with Paul Rudd as Linda and George, a yuppie couple whose attempt to make it in NYC comes a-cropper. Her aspiration to sell a documentary about man’s inhumanity to penguins to HBO fails because the idea is just too depressing (only the latest in a disastrous string of professional gigs for her). And he loses his job at some sort of financial firm when the place is abruptly shut down by regulators. Suddenly without income—and unable to keep up payments on the tiny studio apartment they’ve justly unwisely bought—the pair agree to a job offer from his obnoxious brother Rick (Ken Marino) in Atlanta. (Rick’s in the porta-potty business, ha-ha.)

On the way to Georgia, however, Linda and George spend a night at an out-of-the-way bed-and-breakfast called Elysium, which turns out to be an old-fashioned commune filled with predictably colorful stereotypes—including ruggedly handsome dude Seth (Justin Theroux) who takes a shine to Aniston. When things don’t turn out in Atlanta, the duo decide to flee back to Elysium, where Jennifer finds fulfillment and Paul gradually becomes disenchanted, not least because his wife takes so readily to its free-love principle.

Though from the technical perspective it’s good enough, the movie pretty much banks on the charm of its leads to carry it, and though Rudd and Aniston are both likable actors, they’re not well used by David Wain and his co-writer Ken Marino. Rudd is given a surprising amount of really dumb dialogue to recite (like the pep-talk he gives himself in a mirror as he plans to engage in extramarital sex, the sole humor of which is based on him saying “dick” over and over again) and is required to go into frantic stooge mode much too often. Aniston is more restrained, but allowed to rely on her familiar pouty shtick for most of the picture.

The supporting players are all less funny than they intend, with Theroux in particular coming across as more creepy than engaging, though the fault lies more in the writing than the performances and Joe Lo Truglio, as a nudist winemaker and would-be novelist, has a few choice moments. Marino has crafted the least attractive part for himself, playing Rick as one of the most detestable guys to be found in a recent comedy, without any hint of a redeeming comedic spark. Even Alan Alda seems to be slumming as the owner of Elysium. Coasting around on a hover chair, he appears just to be biding time before the paycheck comes in.

Alda does, however, have a telling line near the movie’s close, when he and Aniston meet at a local diner to escape the commune’s vegan menu. Alan orders a heart-unhealthy plate that, among other items, boasts some big sausages. In an observation that can be taken as characteristic of the wit on display throughout the movie, Alan says, “I don’t know why they call it wurst—it’s the best.” “Wanderlust” may not be the worst of these ultra-raunchy comedies, but it certainly doesn’t leave you wanting more, especially not the inevitable outtakes added to the closing credits.