How is this better than The Hangover? Rob Corddry’s hilarious alcoholism and mania is used right away to drive the film. (Go UMASS!) I felt like I was back at 88 Pelham Road (the dawg pound, home of my UMASS friends)- don’t go on the trampoline with your forty and all those mushrooms! The Hangover, despite being in Vegas with an actual tiger, declawed Ed Helms- their best asset showed none of the poorly repressed rage he brought to the early seasons of The Office. John Cusack, Craig Robinson, and even the young guy that A.O. Scott compares to John Hodgeman combine extreme cuteness, myopic self obsession and pathos that no woman can hope to get close to. The idea of them working together on anything is laughable, except in a movie with a time machine.
“I love how much you hate yourself,” one of the fleeting female characters says to Corddry.
One note: John Cusack’s hair piece makes me sad. Is he right that we could not love him the same as an adult with male pattern baldness as we love his full haired eighties self? Also I think he’s had a facelift. I adore him anyway, but I don’t understand him. The character he played in Say Anything, all grown up and turned into a miserable insurance salesman, or hired killer, or asshole record store owner, he’s got that same accessible untouchability. Is everything okay? What are you thinking about? Can I get you anything?
As a woman I am on the outside of these stories, technically- the only women who appear are sweet pieces of ass and floating breasts. Though they haul in a Deschanel lookalike as a romantic interest, she isn’t allowed to Ringwald. But I identify with these miserable men. Oh, hot tub time machine, I’ve tried you a few times. Do men have any idea how women think and want and do just the same things? They must, since we buy so many film tickets for movies that show hardly any women we can recognize.
Leaving the mall I walk to my car, a facsimile of the car I learned to drive on, and turn on the radio. The Red Hot Chili Peppers. I drive to the small New England town I moved to and think about how I’ve been reliving my teens these past 18 months- but with a different pov. Two weeks ago I watched the high school musical with all the proud grandmas. Sunday I’m moving in upstairs from Carina and her husband. Stay tuned for the sitcom. Should I act like I’m eighteen again and light out for the west coast, make some movies with actual women in them?