Is there any phrase that screams male-adolescent-fantasy more than "bachelor party"? As was evidenced by the 1984 Tom Hanks film by that name, nothing brings out the worst in men like the promise of consequence-free last-night-of-freedom debauchery. In reality, bachelor parties typically amount to drunken male bonding amid some well-apportioned female nudity. On film, however, they are full-on Bacchanalian blowouts that threaten the very fabric of proper society.
"The Hangover", the latest from director Todd Phillips (who may forever be known as Todd "Old School" Phillips in reference to that 2003 comic gem), explores the little-seen aftermath of such an event. A bachelor party so wild, so debaucherous, so legendary, that the male participants can't remember any of it. When they wake up (sporting the condition of the title) their hotel room is trashed and the groom himself is missing.
Boys. Will we ever learn?
The revelers in question are alpha-male Phil (Bradley Cooper), tightly-wound Stu (Ed Helms from TV's "The Office"), odd-man-out Alan (Zach Galifianakis, putting the emphasis on "odd") and groom-to-be Doug (Justin Bartha). With only two days until his nuptials (again, this isn't reality), Doug and his crew pile into a mint condition '69 Mercedes convertible, generously donated by his father-in-law-to-be (Jeffrey Tambor, always a pleasure). Naturally, they head to that mecca of sin itself, Las Vegas. No sooner do they check-in to a $4000 per night villa at Caesars Palace than they wake up the next morning one man down. The groom is gone and, judging by the state of the hotel room, they're all lucky to be alive. Aside from the thousands of dollars in property damage, they also find themselves the proud owners of a chicken, a man-eating tiger and a baby.
As amusing as that premise may be, the screenwriters have their work cut out for them. How do you hold interest in a film when the action has already happened? As it turns out, not easily. Frequent collaborators Jon Lucas & Scott Moore ("
Four Christmases", "
Ghosts of Girlfriends Past") essentially string together a series of cameos as the beleaguered comrades retrace their steps. Heather Graham shows up as a comedy-movie escort, Rob Riggle as a comedy-movie cop, Mike Epps as a comedy-movie black guy. And Mike Tyson poking fun at his image playing a comedy-movie version of himself (as opposed to the real version he played in the recent "Tyson" film). He's also the owner of the aforementioned big cat.
Some of the moments work (Mr. Galifianakis, in particular, walks away with the movie), some don't (a run-in with an Asian gang is simply unfunny), and some are just downright awkward (the sooner they get rid of that baby, the better). Mr. Phillips knows his way around a joke, so the film is never boring. But it also never gels. The writers have a tough time straddling the line between goofball absurdity (wait'll you hear why they can't remember anything) and uncomfortable reality (some of the behavior is kinda despicable). So while "The Hangover" can't take its place among the pantheon of male-centric comedies, it's good for the occasional laugh. Like the titular condition, it lasts a short time and disappears after a good night's sleep.
