Part Two. No, it’s not me. It’s a movie. A sequel. Kind of. The three original characters from the (quite hilarious) 2009 film are transplanted from Vegas to Bangkok where a similar, nightmarish alcoholic blackout causes them all to retrace totally forgotten drunken steps. Three American men with a shared history of misbehaviour travel to Thailand for the wedding of one of them, a dignified and slightly anally retentive dentist who is marrying a beautiful, educated Thai girl from a highly respected family. One little drink on the beach then morphs into an awakening with a drug dealer in a seedy Bangkok hotel room who promptly dies after snorting a line of coke, a missing teenage genius brother of the bride and a bridegroom with a quite fetching, if large, facial tattoo. Imagine the unimaginable and it probably happened. There isn’t really a story, more a concatenation of retrospective and highly unfortunate series of events, pieced together painfully and appallingly slowly around the general theme of finding the missing boy. In case it’s not obvious, this is not suitable for children It’s violent, crass, offensive to every conceivable interest group, and liberally besprinkled with profanity and male nudity – yes, being Bangkok – a transsexual prostitute puts in an appearance with whom, apparently, the bridegroom-to-be had consensual gay carnal relations. Oh, dear. The whole point seemed to be to to make even seen-it-all-done-it-all adults laugh in shock at each dawning, ever more shameful recollection.
It was awful. Why, then? Because it served as an object lesson to remind me why Uncle Jack and I parted company several years ago. But, it never got quite that bad, did it? I really can’t remember.