Review: The Hangover (2009)

Not since Superbad have I laughed so hard at a comedy. The Hangover is a fun, darkly comic vision of Las Vegas that is welcome in a season full of dour, predictable and totally lifeless films (save the latest Star Trek film). R-rated comedies, of which the summer season seems to have plenty of, are usually a toss up. At certain times, the films confuse crude, over-the-top comedy as being edgy, while completely missing the part where they make people laugh (I’m looking right at you Judd Apatow). With The Hangover, director Todd Philips envisions a Las Vegas that is realistic and down-to-earth, so that when the shit does eventually hit the fan, the laughs keep coming. Most rewarding are the performances of the three leads: Bradley Cooper plays Phil, the cool alpha male using the trip as an excuse to escape the bonds of family life; the always funny Ed Helms as Stu, the nerdy friend who ends up marrying a stripper during a night of drunken debauchery; Justin Bartha plays Doug, the “normal” husband-to-be who mysteriously goes missing during the night; and perhaps the funniest actor in the film, Zach Galifianakis, who plays the socially awkward but lovable Alan. Each actor shines in their roles and they are helped by a script by Jon Lucas and Scott Moore that generously doles out the comedic one-liners and moments for each character. As for Philips, he deftly shoots the action with a light-touch, giving the actors room to work off each other. Unlike Vince Vaughn or Will Ferrell, who seem to steal every scene they are in and usually at the expense of other performers, the cast of The Hangover feel like equals, with each one working off the other in concert. Lucas and Moore’s screenplay contains a bevy of jokes, one-liners, sight gags, and dark comedy, all without feeling bloated or boring. It’s such a welcome feat, that the film breezes along, inspired by a plot that uses elements of the classic road-trip comedy, the scatological male comedy, and, perhaps most ingeniously, the mystery-thriller. This is especially apparent in the opening scene, which has our heroes bloody and exhausted and stranded next to their car along a desert road. The scene is at once calculated—with all the actors positioned in the frame in a way Wes Anderson would be proud of—and inventive, capturing a Las Vegas that is at once inviting and dangerous. This is the stuff film noirs are made of. How remarkable it is, then, to see this type of approach to a comedy. It seems Todd Philips is channeling Billy Wilder, shooting Las Vegas, especially in the opening credits, as a lonely, haunting place, devoid of life and prospects, which is not the standard Vegas we’ve come to expect from typical summer films. Philips sets up the situation to the point where comedic mayhem can develop, but he is restrained enough in his directorial approach not to send the film careening into cartoon territory. In other words, it’s not zany or overly self-reflexive. As is the case with all good comedy, the more the characters play it straight, the funnier the situations become.

Richard Saad
© Cinephile Magazine, 2009