After the first sequel to The Hangover proved to be identical to the original, only transferred to a new setting and less funny, I confess that I wasn’t exactly champing at the bit to sit through a third go-round of director Todd Phillips’s Tales of the Wolf Pack. To my immense pleasure, however, The Hangover Part III — supposedly the final installment in the over-the-top saga of Phil (Bradley Cooper), Stu (Ed Helms), and Alan (Zach Galifianakis) — is a delight, easily the funniest of the trilogy.
The plot is as simple as it is unremarkable: After Mr. Chow (Ken Jeong) escapes from Thai prison, mob boss Marshall (John Goodman) commandeers the trio to find the diminutive criminal and retrieve the millions he stole. If they don’t comply, Doug (poor Justin Bartha, who never gets to enjoy any of the fun) dies. Naturally, hijinks ensue. The joy of the Hangover movies is watching the Wolf Pack trio fumble their way through one outrageous, boundary-pushing escapade after another, and this third entry to the series offers plenty of them, traveling from California to Mexico and finally back to Las Vegas, where all the madness first started. But the most deliriously funny moments of Part III — I’m talking gasp-inducing, hold-your-hand-in-front-of-your-mouth hilarious — are unforgettable sight gags that bookend the film, involving, respectively, a giraffe and a pair of breasts.
I continue to be in awe of what Galifianakis does with his performance as Alan; he takes what ought to be nothing more than a cartoonish buffoon and imbues him with far more humanity and complexity than is ever apparent on the page. Helms and Cooper are fine, but they never quite match the level of their hirsute costar. Cooper’s performance is rather on the disappointing side, to be honest. It’s not that he’s bad in the movie. He’s not. It’s just that, now that we’ve seen his career-best, Academy Award-nominated performance in last fall’s Silver Linings Playbook, we know just what he’s capable of. And let’s face it — Phil is the kind of blandly cocky role that any actor could play in his sleep. Come on, Bradley. Challenge yourself a bit more. Also wasted is the prolific Goodman, who — in generic mobster mode — totally phones it in.
For my money, the most welcome addition to the cast is the unbilled Melissa McCarthy — as fully committed as ever — as Cassie, Vegas pawn shop owner and oddball love interest for Alan. McCarthy’s appearance in Part III is scarcely more than a glorified cameo, but she sells it completely, further cementing her new status as a comedy icon for the ages. Between Bridesmaids, her stints on Saturday Night Live, and now this — and I’m not even discounting her terrific work in the otherwise dreadful Identity Thief — McCarthy has the rare gift of elevating everything she appears in. At age 42, and after 16 years in the business, she truly is one of Hollywood’s most exciting new stars.
As fun as it is to watch the Hangover movies, none of them is especially well-written. Galifianakis and Jeong are funny as hell, and they’re the ones who make this franchise succeed. Were it not for them, the whole enterprise would collapse under the dead weight of underdeveloped characters and mediocre frat-boy laughs. So thank goodness for them, because they have made this trilogy far more enjoyable than it has any right to be.
