Tigers love pepper. They hate cinnamon.

Here is a review of boxofficesmash The Hangover; it was published in SEE Magazine last week.  Yes, this post is timely.

Actually, first, I have a gripe.  I saw The Hangover referred to as a "sleeper hit" weeks before its release.  Perhaps I'm not correct about the definition of sleeper hit, but I thought that it refers to something that becomes surprisingly successful.  So how can you apply the term to a movie before its even released?  The predictability of the film industry makes this movie-watcher sad.  Remember the days when My Big Fat Greek Wedding was an actual sleeper hit, and you scratched your head and said, "200 million for that picture show, really?" and then you went along kind of grotesquely fascinated but at least genuinely surprised?  I kind of miss that.

Ok, now my timely review:

Director Todd Phillips (Old School, Road Trip) has built a career on making men act like boys. The Hangover is the first time he’s given audiences a glimpse into what drives his characters to act the way they do and who they might be beneath the surface. However, this is entirely too serious a note on which to begin discussing a movie that contains a scene where a guy pretends to sodomize an unconscious tiger.

And once you know the basic premise of The Hangover — after a raucous Vegas bachelor party, three friends with no recollection of the previous night’s events go searching for the missing groom — it’s clear why it’s more fun to talk about jungle cats: the plot is kind of stupid. Thankfully, nothing in the movie indicates that anyone involved would disagree; The Hangover’s beat-the-clock mystery set-up creates a wonderfully organic and breezy feel and a sense that anything can happen. The trio has no choice but to follow any lead that materializes, from the relatively mundane (a hospital bracelet), to the truly bizarre (the buck-naked Asian gangster trapped in their trunk).

This particular frat pack is made up of Doug (Justin Bartha), the very ordinary groom; Phil (Bradley Cooper), the alpha jerk beneath a thinly veiled act; Stu (The Office’s Ed Helms), the softie in an emasculating relationship; and Alan (Zach Galifianakis), Doug’s socially incompetent future brother-in-law and the film’s token clownish idiot. It’s a standard checklist of comic types, but the leads play their characters so well and have such natural chemistry that it really seems plausible they could be friends.

Of the cast, it’s Galifianakis’ cumbersome name that audiences will commit to memory. It’s unclear just how many marbles Alan is missing, but Galifianakis makes everything work, whether he’s having a legitimate Rain Man moment or merely having trouble with the concept of wearing pants. Even ineffective and tasteless jokes, like those suggesting pedophilia, are saved by Galifianakis’ comedic skills; his sweet obliviousness and Jonas Brothers-loving shtick make the character an overeager and harmless manchild.

As any movie set in Vegas requires some sort of ridiculous celebrity appearance, Mike Tyson plays himself in a cameo that lets him do what he’s best at (punching people), what he’s worst at (acting, apparently), and for good measure, something we’ve never seen him do (air-drumming and singing Phil Collins). He basically runs through the gamut of what makes any compelling screen performance.

The answer to the question of what really happened to Doug may disappoint some viewers, because it’s not nearly as over-the-top as the rest of the movie. But it works, like many of the Vegas clichés The Hangover is rife with, because it’s completely believable as something your dumbass friends might do in a similar situation.

Sold on its crude laughs, The Hangover isn’t devoid of heart — though, like its characters and undoubtedly its target audience, it would probably be loath to admit it. But don’t fear: Phillips, well-aware that viewers won’t want to leave on a mushy note, caps his film with a credit sequence so hilariously vulgar it’s sure to please anyone’s inner fratboy.