‘The Hangover’

Go ahead, laugh your ass off. That's "The Hangover's" sole goal.

If you'd rather laugh your head off, however, you'll have to wait for another movie, because this one's pretty much brainless -- and quite proud to be so.

These days, that's probably all anyone wants.

Except, of course, for certain crabby critics who would welcome a rude, crude 'n' lewd movie that could provide something beyond rudeness, crudeness and lewdness.

Even with a low-down anarchic spirit, however, "The Hangover" still wimps out at the end, succumbing to the same soothing spirit of everything's-going-to-be-OK-once-the-headache-wears-off reassurance.

It's a cruel fate -- and a big letdown -- for a movie that's not quite as wild and crazy as it thinks it is.

But at least "The Hangover" allows audiences to revel in some zany raunchiness (or is that raunchy zaniness?) before it's time to clean up and go home, secure in the knowledge that whatever happens in Vegas ... well, you know the drill.

So do four hearty bachelor partygoers heading to Las Vegas for a final fling before Doug (a bland Justin Bartha) ties the knot.

There's flip, caustic Phil (Bradley Cooper), who can't quite decide which responsibility he hates more: teaching at a private school or being a husband and father.

As for docile dentist Stu ("The Office's" Ed Helms), he's lucky to escape the killer gravitational pull of his bitch-on-wheels girlfriend (a strident Rachael Harris, Helms' former "Daily Show" co-star).

Doug, Phil and Stu have been best friends since college. Which explains why awkward Alan (scene-stealing Zach Galifianakis), Doug's future brother-in-law, feels like the odd man out -- because he is. It also explains why the weirdly childlike tagalong tries so desperately to fit in; in his mind, Alan's still 12 years old. (As for his gonads, that's another matter entirely.)

Just another mock-macho foursome out for some quick winks, drinks and belly laughs.

Except when Phil, Stu and Alan awaken in their trashed Caesars Palace suite, focus their half-mast eyes and notice a few strange developments.

For one thing, Doug is nowhere to be found.

For another, two additional occupants have joined what's left of the party: a very cute, very unaccompanied baby and a snarling tiger who, unlike the suite's other occupants, is utterly awake and hungry for breakfast. (Or lunch. Or whatever the appropriate meal might be at this unidentified hour.)

It's clear (or as clear as they can be in their current wrecked states) that these three have to retrace their steps and find the missing groom.

But they're not too concerned. After all, what could happen in Vegas?

They're about to find out -- and it's not pretty.

Except, of course, for the heart-of-gold stripper/escort, Jade (Heather Graham), they find as they retrace their drunken steps, leading to too-close encounters with everyone from a cheerfully sadistic police officer (another "Daily Show" veteran, Rob Riggle) to the mincing, diminutive gangster Mr. Chow ("Road Trip's" Ken Jeong), who's got vengeance on his tiny little mind.

Oh, and let's not overlook the tiger's equally intimidating owner: Mike Tyson. (Who at least spoofs his ferocious image with a bit more wit than you might expect, given "The Hangover's" generally down-and-dirty approach.)

Screenwriters Jon Lucas and Scott Moore ("Four Christmases," "Ghosts of Girlfriends Past") set up a follow-the-clues flashback structure straight out of a '40s film noir, allowing those of us in the audience to accompany the guys on their raucous adventures, which invoke almost every Vegas cliche in the Cinema Pair-a-dice-o handbook. (Whether that's a good thing depends on your perspective.)

And while some of us might welcome a slight psychological edge to go along with the smut, director Todd Phillips ("Old School," "Road Trip") isn't interested in polluting his id-fueled comedy with any distracting insights.

He once again pledges his allegiance to crazed male bonding, employing a just-the-facts approach as the outrageous reversals of fortune pile up like so many empty liquor bottles strewn about the movie's memorably trashed high-roller suite.

But at least he's an equal-opportunity offender. "The Hangover" hits a daily double with Mr. Chow, who's a mincing, two-in-one Asian gay stereotype, while "The Hangover's" few female characters are either decorative ciphers (the bride), shrill scolds (Stu's possessive girlfriend) or ingratiating, up-for-anything whores (the dream-come-true Jade).

Then again, our hungover, increasingly desperate heroes have their own humiliations to endure -- and their obvious onscreen camaraderie heightens "The Hangover's" nonstop party vibe.

Cooper's swaggering bravado and Helms' nerdy sweetness contribute to the humor, but it's Galifianakis who emerges as the movie's breakout presence, conveying an intriguingly warped innocence that suggests there's something more going on beneath, and besides, the gleeful surface vulgarity.

Which is definitely more than we can say for the rest of "The Hangover."

Contact movie critic Carol Cling at ccling@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0272.