Like the Mitchell Brothers, Burt Reynolds' Jack Horner has pretensions to art. But when he finally achieves his masterpiece, Anderson shows it for the laughably inept detective film it is. Rated X treats the Mitchells as misunderstood artists and never gives us a chance to judge their work for ourselves. They make extravagant claims for their films, and then we see their audiences applauding. There's no evidence of their achievement in anything but entrepreunerial terms, so we're left having to trust the film when it implies that they were doing something grander.
Nothing really becomes of the parallels.
Sheen plays Artie as a consummate sleazeball, but never gives the sense that he's enjoying himself, or investing the role with lived experience. He gives the same blank, somewhat dazed performance he usually gives, albeit in an ugly leather jacket and shades. Estevez is marginally better, if only because Jim's sober demeanor demands less showboating. Odder still, the two brothers never create a feeling of family. There's no spark between them that might suggest years of shared jokes or buried resentments.