Not Another Hangover

The Hangover Part III is in production, and that news started a friendly debate between me and a few friends. I don’t see the point in sequels unless they are part of a trilogy, one that was always meant to be a trilogy – unlike, say, the Matrix films. Those appeared to only be made because the original was a surprise hit. I do give the Wachowski brothers credit for trying to make their sequels one continuous narrative, but they ended up trying to cram too much in, but that thought is for another time.

In general, sequels to me are just more of the same, uninspired, regurgitated themes and a waste of my time. My friends, on the other hand, tell me to stop being picky, and enjoy the film for what it is, but this has nothing to do with being picky. If consumers don’t demand better content from Hollywood, and instead support the crap they produce en mass, then movie makers have no incentive to create anything other than more of the same.

Which leads me back to the Hangover. Number three—really? Why isn’t “been there, done that” a four-letter word in Hollywood? I loved the first movie, skipped the second because, guess what, everyone said it was the same as the original, and now Todd Philips has allegedly been quoted as saying the series was always meant to be a trilogy. I’m sure it was, Todd.

For the hell of it, I’m going to write the plot line of the next film in five minutes. I’m going to guess it will be just as original as what will eventually be released, and be just as lame. Time me.

The Hangover Part III

Zack Galifianakis’ character, Alan, is getting married to…oh, let’s pick someone…how about Mr. Chow’s identical twin sister who will also be played by Ken Jeong. Hilarious, right? The guys wake up from their hangover, and eventually find out that one of the Wolfpack slept with Alan’s beautiful bride, and Alan spends the rest of the movie crazy with rage. We can expect more exotic locales, more wild animals, more wacky celebrity cameos, and a surprise twist along the way. How about we make that twist be that the group discovers that no one ever had sex with Alan’s bride? Instead, they find out that one of the guys mistakenly banged Mr. Chow who was dressed in drag! A relieved Alan marries his bride with a clear conscious. Happy endings all around. Roll the credits, and wait for the Hangover reboot in 20 years when the guys are fat and all have kids ala Grown Ups. The end.

I don’t even think that took five minutes to write.

As I mentioned before, I never watched the second movie. Hypocritical of me to criticize something I never saw before? Probably, but when one of my friends tweeted that he had just seen the second one, my only question to him was, “How much of it was recycled gags from the first one?” His reply…all of it! I told him that I’d pass, and then the whole twitter world became aflutter with hate towards my close mindedness. Um, what? Let’s use some common sense with this using a parallel example based on a good old-fashioned whore analogy, because I know the whole world can relate to a good prostitute story.

Once upon a time, I rented a LA woman for the night. She was a thrill a minute ride…five stars…two thumbs up. I ranted and raved about her. I told a friend, and he told a friend, then another, and another. Next thing you knew, all of America loved her.

Over the next year, I paid for other harlots of various persuasions and skill level. Some were good, others were not, but they all paled in comparison to Ms. Hollywood and Vine. I wanted to see her one more time, but she was busier than ever. I would have to wait until her schedule permitted. Finally, after much anticipation, I got my chance. I was excited to relive my fond memories, but this time, she expected more money to perform since everyone wanted a piece of her. I paid her fee and entered her love chamber, but she wasn’t the same. She was tired. She showed signs of age from the extra work and partying her fame brought her. She didn’t care. She was uninspired. She knew I would pay for her whether or not she was any good, because I wanted so badly to see her again, and she was right. In the end, I was left with nothing but disappointment and a lighter wallet.

I vowed to never mess with that tired strumpet again. I may never find another ride quite like her again, but I know there is always a younger, hungrier tramp willing to give it a try, and one of them might just surprise me like the Hangover. So, while you are all in line to hear ra-tard uttered on the silver screen again, I’ll look for something a little better. If that makes me picky, then so be it.