THE HANGOVER "trilogy" is the cinematic wet dream of guys who wear backward baseball caps and call their friends "brah." It is lazy and douchebaggy. I scoff at the movies because I am a snobby feminist killjoy, and they make it so easy by being obvious in their contempt of the female audience. (Or maybe they're just completely indifferent to the idea that there might be a female audience? Same diff.)
But goddammit—against my better judgment, the movies also make me laugh.
I didn't laugh at Part III like I laughed at the first movie, but this one is way better than Part II. Instead of just phoning in another shot-for-shot re-creation, writer/director Todd Phillips and co-writer Craig Mazin instead put the dudes on the run. Doug (Justin Bartha) gets kidnapped because he's boring (seriously, there's no other real explanation for why it has to be him), Chow (Ken Jeong) is malicious, John Goodman shows up, and Heather Graham returns as the hooker with a heart of gold. The movie takes a while to get going, but that's probably because we're waiting for the titular hangover that never comes. Instead, you just get classic Wolfpack, line after line: Phil (Bradley Cooper) yells "What the FUCK!" every two minutes, Stu (Ed Helms) is a dentist, and Alan (Zach Galifianakis) makes it all super fucking weird. Their roundabout journey from a funeral to Tijuana and then back to Vegas is totally nonsensical (seriously, why don't these dudes ever call the cops?) but, I admit, pretty fun. Strangely, I think the bros calling the shots decided that Alan was the fan favorite, so they laid him on extra thick, but I actually wanted more Bradley Cooper? Huh.
ANYWAY, this is a trilogy whose thesis is that there are zero consequences when privileged white men make horrible decisions on cocaine. If you wanna see it, sure, bro it up. Put on your cap, turn it around, and get ready for exactly what you're expecting. We can all be douchebags sometimes.