The Hangover

Editorial

Phillips treads broadly similar ground with The Hangover but, ironically for a movie that celebrates the male of the species' innate ability to screw things up; he exhibits a great deal more maturity than he did with its hit-and-miss forebear.

On the face of it, The Hangover doesn't look particularly promising, nor, to be honest, terribly original. Mercifully, and very astutely, The Hangover avoids the clichés by starting where most movies of this ilk finish: in the aftermath of the ruinous carousing rather than the preamble to it. In fact, sparing us the gratuitous party scenes is not just good sense, but an intrinsic element of the narrative since, thanks to a self-administered mickey that turns out to be Rohypnol rather than E, the main characters have no idea of what went on the night before.

Following a brief set-up, the action kicks off when a trio of groomsmen wake up in the apocalyptic wreckage of their Las Vegas hotel suite to discover the inexplicable absence of the groom himself (Bartha), who is due to get hitched in 24 hours. From there the film becomes a twisted, and unerringly hilarious, detective story as the hapless "worst men", their memories wiped clean by date-rape drugs, have to piece together the events of the previous evening, track down their missing buddy and get him to the church on time.

What really gives The Hangover wings, rendering it every bit as endearing as it is profanely funny, is the chemistry between the three leads — Cooper, Helms and Galifianakis.

Simon Braund