The Hangover Part II is everything you’d expect it to be, and nothing more. Fans of the raucous original will undoubtedly howl with laughter at the booze-fueled antics of Bradley Cooper, Zach Galifianakis and Ed Helms’ Wolf Pack, as they waver episodically up a muddled memory lane, piecing together just what happened the night before. And those fans mean serious business, given the worldwide gross of $467 million, and Golden Globe, earned by the original, the sleeper hit and critical darling of the 2009. Those less inclined, however, to Todd Philips’ particular brand of American Arsehole Anarchy™ – Old School, Due Date, Road Trip – where grown men make self-serving choices and jokes at the expense of the poor, the aged, women, the disabled, homosexuals, ethnic minorities and anyone else who isn’t a upper middle-class dude, will also get everything they’d expect, and nothing more.
While I didn’t especially enjoy The Hangover and its Las Vegas larks, the film was a decent comedy, offering its audience a fresh take on the buddy ensemble, by effectively ditching the lead in favour of following the madcap antics of three gormless supporting characters. The Hangover Part II is an ill-advised rehash of more of the same, losing any of the freshness of its source as it wallows in an increasingly racist cesspit of filth and human degradation – or Bangkok, as the writers would have you see it.
Yes, sequel traditionally means bigger and bolder, so this time round the chaps find themselves in Thailand, in anticipation of Stu’s (Ed Helms) wedding to Jamie Chung’s Lauren. After reluctantly agreeing to one drink on the beach in lieu of a stag do, the trio wakes up in a greasy hotel in the middle of Bangkok with no memory of where they are, where Lauren’s genius younger brother (Mason, son of Ang, Lee) has gotten to, and why they’ve got a chain-smoking drug-dealing vest-wearing monkey for company? Ken Jeong reappears as the gratingly shrill Mr. Chow, Paul Giamatti gets a completely unnecessary subplot, and the much discussed Mel Gibson/Liam Neeson/Nick Cassavetes’ tattoo artist cameo offers little more than an expository segue into yet another “oh-no-they-didn’t” incident, that yes, in fact, they did do.
The problem with following the same basic premise of the first film is the unfortunate need to one up everything that happened before. To that end, Galifianakis’ Alan comes off the worst, the butt of numerous jokes at the expense of what I can only assume is autism, whose man-child whims are barely tolerable and overly whiney. Bradley Cooper’s Phil comes across as mean and harsh in place of cool and irreverent, while Stu’s tryst with a Thai prostitute (Yasmin Lee, star of such Asian masterpieces as Big Ass She-Male Road Trip 11 and Bitch Got Balls) merely serves to show just how one-note the script’s interpretation of Thailand really is. That his infidelity can just be brushed off in a mad dash rush to get him to the church on time only serves to fuel further a generation of men who think being an arsehole is all right.
Frankly, what happened in Vegas should have stayed in Vegas.
2 Likes.
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