The Hangover: Part II

Todd Philips' follow-up to 2009's surprise smash should be the new dictionary definition for 'lazy sequel'. The title is apparently referencing the sequel to The Godfather, but it smacks of the misplaced self-importance and general lack of imagination of the whole enterprise. This is one case where 'hair of the dog' doesn't work. Despite a lot of bluster and obvious expense, as well as the effortlessly exotic foreign locale, this comes off as a cheap cash-in, riding on the fond regard so many hold the original film in. The sure hand that distinguished Philips' work with that and Old School is extremely shaky here, sullying the reputation of all involved.

The Wolfpack finds itself reunited in Thailand for Ed Helms' toothless wonder Stu's dream wedding to Asian cutie Jamie Chung (the first of many plot points to challenge any rational viewer's suspension of disbelief). The groom's reformation is put to the test by Bradley Cooper's rabble-rousing alpha male 'best friend' Phil (seriously, who'd be friends with this guy?) and the surreal buffoonery of Zach Galifianakis' man-child Alan, who is still unhealthily fixated with their Vegas adventure. Just as the group are co-erced into taking Alan along to the wedding (much to Stu's chagrin), the bride's strait-laced teenage brother gets hoisted onto the group (much to Alan's envious and obvious displeasure). It's a surefire recipe for disaster, the group's rude awakening in a grotty Bangkok hotel leading to a bleary-eyed quest to find their missing member and make it to the altar before an already disapproving father-in-law puts a stop to the marriage.

Despite its characters displaying some truly despicable attitudes and behaviour, the first film got by on the drip-feed novelty of its structure; the surprises came thick and fast, and the whole thing conveyed that familiarly harrowing dread that follows alcohol-induced-blackouts superbly. It was also uproariously funny, largely because of the imaginative situations and Galifianakis' deadpan psychotic naivete. This sequel plays all the original's trump cards but confuses increased volume and ever-more-manic mugging for an engaging plot and sympathetic characters.

Everything that worked before - Cooper's canny cool, Helms' exponential despair, Galifianakis' vaguely camp idiocy - feels forced and tired, and even the supporting characters strike a bum note. It's a stretch too far to accept that Alan could have befriended Ken Jeong's outrageously fey drug-peddler, whose initial appearance literally falls flat on its face, the script striving for uncomfortable laughs in jarringly dark places. There's even a predictable climactic cameo that manages to be both impossible to swallow and brutally unfunny.

For viewers, the most enjoyable aspect of the movie is its tourist board snapshot of a fascinating country - there are some obvious easy laughs (the comedic highlight involves a spectacularly glam ladyboy) but overall the film betrays an appreciation for Thailand in all its dangerous glory that comes as a pleasant surprise amidst the onslaught of lowbrow gags. But no amount of stunningly shot scenery can paper over Philips' wild tonal shifts and pathetic repetition of the first film's set-pieces. As co-writer, he sadly has to saddle the lion's share of the blame: this could easily have built upon the ragged genius of its predecessor but instead settles for wheeling out the same old tricks, just in different surroundings. The foundation is there for a solid sequel, but it'll have to fall to the inevitable threequel to deliver another dose of the original's riotous fun. Even the welcome return of the credit slideshow filling in the blanks of our heroes' chaotic night on the lash turns out to be a bit of a damp squib. Most viewers won't be able to resist the lure of another session, but few will leave the cinema feeling anything other than deeply disappointed.