What are we supposed to think about Hollywood's new parade of masculinity?
Having finally sat down to watch the infinitely lauded The Hangover, I undoubtedly had high laugh-count expectations for the most promising Todd Phillips feature since Old School. Considering Old School allowed the relatively fresh talents of Will Ferrell and Vince Vaughn to solidify themselves as comedic heavyweights, The Hangover held much promise for a second wave of 'frat pack' talent. However, The Hangover lacks both the (albeit pratfall-ish) laughs and charm offered by any of it's predecessors, whether it be the nye on cult Anchorman or the cringe-inducing 40 Year Old Virgin
We are introduced to groom-to-be Doug (Justin Bartha) and partners in crime Phil (Bradley Cooper) and Stu (Ed Helms); three regular best buds who are accompanied on their Vegas stag night by slightly less regular brother-in-law, Alan (Zach Galifianakis). Unlike the Reagan-era display of hard-bodied masculinity, this foursome are less concerned about a show of pecs or heroism; they are are more like post-Bush debauchees. However, The Hangover's similarities with Reaganite Cinema (reasserting white-centric, male power) exhibits an emergent reworking of the crisis-of-masculinity films through familiar escapist comedy.
For one night only, The Hangover's hapless foursome rebel against any semblance of their feminised suburban existence. As we might expect a 'chick-flick' to open with the blushing bride trying on her wedding dress, this 'dick-flick' opens with Doug trying on his morning suit. Phil is introduced to us as he rushes from class having finished teaching, a traditionally feminine career, and Stu certainly doesn't wear the trousers in his emotionally abusive relationship. Where previous male-centric successes have been based on either the slapstick framework or the darkly comic, The Hangover hinges its humour on a rather absurd string of events which takes us from Mike Tyson's Vegas home to a naked Chinese Triad member. Mr Chow is not the only grossly stereotypical archetype in the film, whether it be the assumed mentally-challenged, mildly pedophilic Alan, to just about any woman which features.
Stu in particular appears to have deep-seated issues with women; he leaves behind one which obsessively mothers him for one which sells her body. The baffling ignominy of Heather Graham's hooker Jade is supposed to provide a light at the end of the tunnel for Stu. It is assumed that freewheelin' Jade is preferable to Stu's current girlfriend, who clearly daren't expect more from such an irredeemable...loser. Not only that, but much like with the other characters in the film, it is never questioned why these men are so desirable to their partners. Somehow, no matter how infuriating and questionable the actions of Doug over the course of his stag weekend, his bride is still waiting at the aisle for him. At the end of the film, having seen Stu tell his girlfriend where to stick it and the four gather in a triumphant brotherly bear hug, the credit sequence reveals to us that even the married member of the troupe spend the weekend being photographed with the breasts of a stripper in his face.
The regressive behaviour of The Hangover's 'heroes' projects a pheremonic fear of losing masculine control. Why these men have to be married or on the precipice of it, appears to serve a redundant narrative function, and only begs the question who on earth would find their behaviour indicative of husband-material. Nothing captures their hedonistic attitude so perfectly as when Tara reveals her breast to begin feeding her baby. The men shiftily avert their gaze, uncomfortable with the hooker as a naturally functioning mother. The lovable risque nature of the original 'brat-packers' has transformed into something much more exposed; a fear of losing an innate male freedom which is under constant threat attack. The Hangover doesn't just fail on the misogynist front, there is also the face that an overweight bearded man pretending to help a baby masturbate, is fairly humourously inept.
As family man Phil reconvenes with his wife and son at the wedding, Phil tellingly asks 'how was the soccor game?' It may be safe to assume that whilst Phil has been indulging his repressed base self through a vice-fuelled weekend, his wife has been at home, assuaging fears relating to a usurped family order. The plot outline of Due Date sets itself up as another stale bromance; Galifianakis and Downey Jr embark on a road trip race to reach a birth on time. Whilst revolving around the titular birth, we can expect to see another reckless exploration of male identity within the contemporary family unit, without a credible female lead. If this is the best model of masculinity that guffawing teenage audiences have, a remedy is needed swiftly, and not from Michael Cera's other brand of male protagonist...
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