The Hangover, Todd Phillips’ return to fratastic form after the disappointing School for Scoundrels, marks itself as an aesthetic step up for the Old School director right from the get go. With moody, pensive music playing on the soundtrack, the opening credits play out over a montage of Las Vegas By Day — giant cranes breaking the skyline of dull towers, Godzilla-size advertisements for “talent” like Marie Osmond baking in the sun — fading into the more palatable, glittery, and familiar images of Vegas By Night. This tells us right away that The Hangover means to say something about the contradictions of the city in which its set, and particularly the contrast between the Vegas myth of endless nights of full-on debauchery, and days spent nursing head-splitting regret at all-you-can-eat buffets. But Sin City presents Donnie and Marie is only the half of it: more importantly for The Hangover’s purposes, Vegas is a city constantly in construction, creating and erasing its own totally manufactured history,  a vacation spot paradoxically designed to provide inspiration for amateur photographers, which simultaneously boasts of its ability to send the same tourists home without memories that they could relate in mixed company.

In other words: the whole goal of the contemporary trip to Vegas is to come home with a digital camera full of evidence that you had a bunch of fun that you can’t recollect and certainly are not going to talk about. So when Phil (Bradley Cooper) Stu (Ed Helms) and Alan (Zack Galifinakis) wake up in their suite at Caesar’s the morning after Doug’s (Justin Bartha) bachelor party to find that their room is trashed and they’ve been left to care for a wandering chicken, a live tiger and a mysterious baby, the initial assumption is that this detritus is Vegas business as usual. Why can’t they remember anything that happened the night before? As Phil puts it, “Because we obviously had a great fucking time.” So great that the groom has gone missing.

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