Which Wilson brother wins with you?

Like two sides of a coin, the on-screen personas of fetching Hollywood siblings Luke and Owen Wilson represent two types of dude — both neurotic and slightly off-kilter, but with one notable difference.

Luke, whose My Super Ex-Girlfriend opens next Friday, usually plays stand-up guys who are slightly wounded and have a well-concealed freakish streak.

Dima Gavrysh/The Associated Press (enlarge photo) Actors Luke Wilson, left, and his brother Owen arrive to the premiere of the movie My Super Ex-Girlfriend, Wednesday, July 12, 2006, in New York. The Wilson brothers have distinctly different cinematic personas that tend to divide female fans into two camps, and even, sometimes, bring out the fangs in otherwise objective journalistas. •  Luke's Best Movies •  Owen's Best Movies Read reviews of "You, Me and Dupree."

But Owen's characters, like the overgrown man-child in today's You, Me and Dupree, are mostly content to let their freak flag fly — high, unfurled and in your face. And you know you like it.

In a completely unscientific polling, the ladies seem to be firmly divided into either the Luke-type camp or the Owen-type camp. Do they like the nervously handsome heartthrob or the gleefully irresponsible freakboy?

Palm Beach Post staff writers Rachel Sauer and Leslie Gray Streeter have happily set up their tents in those figurative camps, and both defend their affinity for not just the Wilsons' on-screen selves but the real-life guys they represent.

Sauer: The Luke Wilson type is fundamentally decent. And a little weird, but in a good way. He's someone you can count on to not crash your car or "borrow" your debit card for an impromptu trip to Atlantic City. The Owen type probably has your PIN number memorized.

Streeter: True. But here's the thing — the Owen type not only knows that you know he's got your PIN, but he would buy you something on the way back from the casino. Pink fuzzy dice, perhaps? He knows he's a screw-up, and what's more, he knows that you know. And you keep letting him back in the house. So whose fault is that?

The thing about the Luke type, like Luke's character in Old School, is that under his reliable, non-car-crashing pressed suit is a freak. The Owen type doesn't conceal his freakhood. He owns up to it.

Sauer: Yeah, the Owen type has "freak pride," all right. And you'll hear all about it because he never shuts up. Sweet Mary, can he close his mouth for two seconds? It's like he's always trying to sell me an encyclopedia. Lukes appreciate the value of silence. Sure, they're in their own head a lot, but it's an OK place to be. It is not filled with Pop Rocks and unpaid parking tickets.

Streeter: The thing is, the Luke type is conflicted and ultimately annoying, because part of him wishes he hadn't paid those parking tickets. He wants to test that Pop Rocks and soda theory that supposedly killed the kid from the Life cereal commercial. He wants to plan weird robberies and hit on inappropriate girls. Because he is, deep inside, a freak.

The only thing worse than a big ol' freak, though, is one who's conflicted about it. Those guys, both on screen and across the table from you at Starbucks, are the ultimate pain in my tuchis. You can actually see them thinking. And they don't stop thinking, and they won't speak up, and every blessed decision, from what to do with their lives to whether to get the Tall or the Grande, is a flippin' ordeal. Blah, blah, blah, existential crisis. For the love of Christmas, spit it out, sonny!

Sauer: Nothing wrong with a little thinking. Plus, it means he isn't guided by pure, unadulterated id. Luke recognizes that life isn't one big two-for-one Jaegermeister shot night. There is a time and a season for everything: getting freaky, robbing a bookstore (Bottle Rocket), helping your estranged father trick his way back into the family (The Royal Tenenbaums). He cares.

Streeter: Caring is good. But if "caring" robs a bookstore with his freaky friends, "caring" is still a freak. Luke types look good because they surround themselves with bona fide weirdos.

Sauer: A "Luke" values diversity! And he's hopeful. He's optimistic about people's potential for change.

Streeter: This guy isn't just hopeful — he's deluded. Consider Luke's character in Old School, a mild-mannered-ish businessman who comes home to find his girlfriend having an orgy with her "Internet friends" in his house. And who plays that girlfriend? Juliette "Natural Born Killers" Lewis! What kind of idiot dates a Juliette Lewis and doesn't expect to have naked blindfolded people tumbling out of the closet?

Sauer: There are different kinds of deluded. And I'll take this kind any day over the Owen type's main delusion: that he's Crown Prince of Charmingland. He talks and talks and talks, and makes everyone laugh, but he thinks that makes up for the fact that he'll promise to help you move, then show up after you've carried a couch on your own back, toting a six-pack of lite beer and some ludicrous excuse involving a herd of goats.

Streeter: I absolutely agree. And that's why the Owen type is strictly for leisure purposes. What kind of dumb-dumb girl relies on an Owen to help her move? The Owen type is not for the moving, or the marrying. Let your daddy tote the boxes and let Owen throw the housewarming party. Or at least buy the keg.

What I love about that guy, like his character in Shanghai Noon, is that he knows he's a mess. He's never really pretended not to be. He's cocky, and has somehow shambled and charmed his way through life because no one's ever stopped him. But his USDA nutrition label reads "90 percent charm; 10 percent lout." It's there for all to see. The Luke type's label is misleading, or maybe he got out of the factory without one. Because he's still thinking about what's supposed to go on it. And thinking, and thinking. Meanwhile, me and Owen are halfway through the six-pack and looking for Cheetos.

Sauer: Luke just doesn't want a label. He'd never be so obvious. There is subtlety at work here.

Plus, I wouldn't be embarrassed to invite him to Thanksgiving dinner with my family. Oh, he may blurt out something really weird that sprang unbidden from his subconscious, or he may sit mutely contemplating the mashed potatoes, but he'll be there on time. And bring flowers for my mom.

Streeter: "Sprang unbidden"? "Subconscious"? This is exactly the kind of Deepak Chopra-lite claptrap that paralyzes a guy into social awkwardness, and makes him insufferable at Thanksgiving. "How was your day, Luke?" "Well . . . umm . . . if you mean my day, I mean, the day versus the evening . . . or the day, as in the 24-hour period . . . "

Oh, shut it and pass the Stove Top, Bubba! No one cares anymore!

Sauer: At least Luke has a subconscious! And doesn't sing out every crackpot thing that flits, moth-like, through the cavern of his empty skull. Put a sock in it, Owen!

Streeter: Yes, Luke-type is a thinker. But Owen-type is a doer. And thinking without doing gets you nowhere. Doing without thinking . . . well, at least you're out of the driveway and not sitting there, contemplating the map until the veins pop out of your head.

Sauer: No way. Luke-type over-thinks, then acts impulsively. Remember, he's the guy who tries to be normal, but whose freakishness springs up unbidden, like an alien trying to pass for human, but whose antennae keep popping out.

Streeter: But if you're going to be a freak ultimately, why not cut out the middle man and just claim your membership in the Freak of the Month Club? What I like about the Owen type is that I know, ahead of time, what I am getting into. I used to think I could change that guy, or sandpaper down his gnarly edges. But honestly, those edges were really what I was attracted to. In reality, I tend to avoid them big-time, but if you're in the mood for one, you know where they are. And who they are.

Sauer: Good point. I guess I love Luke most because I can have a crush on him, and he'll have one on me. Owen is fun, but he's first in his own heart. I'd always just be passing through.

Streeter: Oh, yeah, Luke-type is thinking, all right. A lot. Of course, he's so busy thinking that it's gonna be another three weeks, several soul-searching sessions with his friends, and a couple of graphs and pie charts, before he tells you.

And by then, Owen's already back with his winnings from Atlantic City and some fuzzy dice for the car he borrowed from you.