It says a lot about “Entourage” and the world it belongs to that the women who keep their clothes mostly on are named in the main credits at the end of the film, while those who expose themselves are relegated to the “additional credits” along with the celebrities who play themselves. (Among these are Warren Buffett, Liam Neeson and of course Mark Wahlberg, who is also a producer.) Emily Ratajkowski shows up as a love interest for Vince, and then discreetly vanishes so that various guys can talk, almost respectfully, about how hot she is. Emmanuelle Chriqui returns as Sloan, Eric’s longtime (now ex-) girlfriend and the soon-to-be mother of his child. Perrey Reeves is Ari’s wife.

This is not a movie about women, though. It’s about Hollywood, which is to say about the narcissism, neediness and sexual entitlement of men. It sometimes pretends to make fun of those things, but let’s not kid ourselves. You could accuse it of glamorizing the shallow hedonism it depicts, but that charge would only stick if the movie had any genuine flair, romance or imagination. Instead, it has the frantic Ari, whose career, once a half-clever inside joke, has become a shaggy-dog story. He’s upstaged here by Mr. Thornton’s lean, mean Texan, whose code of loyalty is equal to Ari’s and who boasts that he never sees the movies he pays for. That may make him the smartest guy in this one, and even something of a role model.