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Chapter - 132
🕑 Added 2025-05-18 15:36:55 +0000 UTC[Title : [The Hangover] Release]
….
Ross didn’t say anything else.
He just leaned back in the plush theater seat, eyes half-lidded, arms crossed. He says nothing, just breathes in the stale popcorn scent of the theater.
Stephen. Sr. sat two chairs over, legs stretched out like he owned the row.
The room is still filling - a slow drift of patrons whispering and sidestepping down the aisles with crinkling bags of snacks like they’re sneaking in contraband.
Without looking over, Stephan speaks, voice low.
“You know. I used to think Regal would just burn out. One of those kids who talks a lot, makes one loud film, then disappears.”
Ross doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink. Just lets the corner of his mouth twitch in irritation. “If you are gonna talk nonsense, pick another seat.” He says.
A pause.
“For a brat you were sure wouldn’t last, you sure did back him like hell.”
Stephan glanced sideways. “I backed him out of curiosity not confidence.”
Ross finally turns, just enough to glance at him. “Same same….”
Then the lights dimmed, twice.
That usual pre-show signal.
In the silence that followed, a hush fell over the room.
People were settling in now. Feet shuffled. A few smiled, some whispers - nothing too loud. Just enough to remind everyone they weren’t alone.
And then—
The screen blinked to life.
A calm, soft guitar riff floats under the first visuals, close-ups of a calm but subtly worried bride, Tracy, standing near a phone in a tastefully decorated house.
Sunlight slants through the blinds.
Her expression is fixed on her phone, brow furrowed, thumb trembling slightly over the screen.
A voice echoes through the room.
“Hey, you reached Doug. Sorry I missed your call. Please leave a name and number and I’ll get back to you.”
The screen cuts back to Tracy’s face - still motionless, still waiting.
Another voice replaces the first. Brisk, clean.
“Hi, you’ve reached Dr. Stuart Price with Prime Dentistry. Please leave a message after the–”
The beep interrupts before he can finish.
Then comes the last voice. A bit drier and sardonic tone.
“Hey, this is Phil. Leave me a message. Or don’t. Do me a favor, don’t text me — it’s kinda gay.”
Tracy’s expression doesn’t change, but her grip on the phone tightens. The voices fade. The silence rushes in.
Behind her, her father paces - an older man, crisp shirt tucked too tightly, tie still on despite the hour. His scowl is faint but constant, like it’s etched into his face more from habit than emotion.
“Anything?” He asks.
Tracy shakes her head, still looking at the phone.
“I have called all three. It just goes straight to voicemail.”
Her mother’s voice calls out from the kitchen, trying for warmth but landing somewhere between strained and hollow.
“There has to be an explanation.”
Her father snorts under his breath.
“Sweetie, it’s Vegas. You lose track of time in those casinos. There’s no windows… or clocks.”
Tracy’s dad snaps. “He’s probably on a heater.”
An uncle - balding, slightly heavier, with a hint of yesterday’s party still on his breath - chimes in as he enters from the hallway.
“And you never walk away from the table when you’re on a heater.”
They all try to sound reasonable, as if layering enough logic over the worry will make it vanish.
But Tracy doesn’t hear them. Not really.
Her expression said, something’s wrong. She doesn’t know what yet. But she knows.
….
The screen fades in from black.
But it was not with a logo or with a studio name.
Just a single image.
The serene domestic scene smash cuts to a harsh, wide-angle shot of the desert.
Flat and Brutal while the sun is so white it blends the edges of the frame.
Bleached hills stretch in the background. A dusty, sunbaked Mercedes sits on a dirt road, hood popped. Heat rises in shimmering waves off the engine.
The camera cuts to a phone, face down on the car hood, its screen cracked. A name glows through the shattered glass.
“Tracy… It’s Phil.”
The camera pans up—
Phil (Keanu Reeves).
He is standing in the middle of the desert, shirt unbuttoned, hair slick with sweat, mouth bloody, tie half around his neck and phone pressed to his ear.
He is sunburnt, exhausted - the kind of cool that’s been tested, shredded, and taped back together. His voice is flat, raspy.
On the other end, Tracy’s voice cracks with equal parts relief and panic.
[“Phil? Oh my God, where are you guys? What’s going on?”]
Phil squints into the horizon.
His voice is rough - sandpaper dragged across dry stone as he delivered one of the most iconic dialogue:
“…Yeah. Uh. We fucked up. Bad.”
A long pause. He stares at the wrecked windshield - cracked, spiderwebbed, caked in dust.
In the reflection, someone moves. Behind the car, Alan - Zach Galifianakis - - staggers into view, shirtless, skin pinked with sunburn fumbling with the map upside down.
A retching sound off to the side.
Stu (Paul Rudd) kneeling in the dirt, vomiting into the sand.
“What?” Tracy’s voice rises, confused. “What do you mean?”
Phil stays quiet, staring across the open desert like answers might appear out there. “We lost Doug.”
Then Tracy - sharper now. “You… what? What are you talking about? Where is he?!”
Phil doesn’t move.
“Yeah. No, not like… lost in thought.” He says, almost to himself. “We lost him. As in - physically. Gone.”
Another pause. Static buzzes faintly over the call. Tracy’s panic comes in now - tight, trembling, barely masked.
“Phil. My wedding is in one hour.”
Phil lets out the faintest sigh, dry as the heat around him.
“Yeah. Well. About that… doesn’t really look like it’s happening.”
Hard cut to black.
A BLAST of loud rock music.
TITLE CARD: “THE HANGOVER”
….
Then:
[36 Hours Earlier]
Boom.
Smash cut to a luxury apartment in L.A. - interior, morning.
Bright sunlight floods in.
Alan (Zach Galifianakis) is brushing his teeth. Shirtless… again. In boxers. Hair like he just got electrocuted.
The electric toothbrush buzzes louder than any sane human could handle.
He is staring into the mirror like he is trying to psych himself up for battle.
Then he gargles, spits, and shouts - “WOLFPACK ASSEMBLE!”
…and Alan’s first line?
“It’s my first bachelor party. And also my first time outside my zip code.”
He hugs Doug (Ben Azelart) for ten seconds too long. The comedic timing is surgical. Zach’s Alan is innocent yet borderline unhinged.
Still the camera linger - uncomfortably so - on his bizarre social instincts.
Stephen nodded, clearly impressed at the introduction of plot, and the actors' performances.
Ben Azelart as Doug:
Doug is played earnestly. Ben brought the vibe of the chill, social media-handsome friend everyone likes, but no one truly knows.
His dynamic with each of the guys is different: Keanu’s Phil is the ‘cool older brother’, Stu is the ‘dork he protects’, and Alan… Well, Alan worships him.
Hard cut again.
Stu (Paul Rudd) is on the phone, pacing around his kitchen. He’s wearing a cardigan over a Star Wars tee. He’s trying to have a serious conversation with his girlfriend, but there’s cereal stuck to his sock and a cat meowing aggressively on the counter.
“No, Melissa, I swear I’m not going to another strip club.” He says, mouth full of toast. “That wasn’t a strip club! That was a burlesque-themed coffee shop!”
Cut to Phil (Keanu) again - cool now, clean-shaven, suit pressed. He’s teaching a high school history class. Mid-lecture.
“—and that’s when Napoleon realized winter was undefeated.”
The bell rings.
He turns to the class, slow grin on his face. “And remember, class - Caesar got stabbed. Lincoln got shot. So don’t trust anyone wearing a toga or a hat.”
Laughter. Light. Charming.
Cut again.
Doug (Ben Azelart) smiling, calm, easy-going. The glue between the chaos. He’s the one getting married, after all. He's helping his fiancée pack gift boxes when Phil calls him.
“We’re kidnapping you in ten minutes.” Phil says.
“What—why?”
“For your bachelor party. Vegas, baby.”
Doug laughs. “You couldn’t just send a text?”
Phil: “Where’s the fun in that?”
Smash cut again—
Garage door opening. Alan stands outside with a duffel bag big enough to hold a body. Sunglasses too large for his face. He looks like he’s dressed for a safari, not a weekend trip.
Cut to:
All four of them now. Phil behind the wheel of a vintage Mercedes convertible. Alan in the back, already taking selfies. Stu is arguing about his toothbrush. Doug’s laughing.
They drive out of the suburbs, music blasting - [Right Round] by Flo Rida slamming into the speakers like a declaration of war.
…..
The room is absurd. Glittering windows. A piano no one knows how to play. There’s a painting of a naked centaur fighting a clock. Regal’s touches are everywhere.
Alan does a quick inventory-
Two candles, a bag of frozen peas, three adult diapers just in case, and a taser
Phil picks up the taser.
“This isn’t coming near me.”
Alan. “You’re no fun.”
Doug. “He's not wrong.”
…..
Cut back to the outside of the theater Keanu and the team were waiting.
The cab slows to a stop.
Inside, the driver glances back with a smile. “So... you are off to see the movie. Hope you guys have a great time.”
Regal leans forward slightly, smiling. “Thanks. Actually - this is the same movie that song was from. So if you are ever in the mood, maybe check it out sometime.”
The driver chuckles. “Is it now? Will do.”
By now, Rock is already out of the car. He walks around and opens the rear door for Regal.
Regal pauses before stepping out. Something occurs to him.
He pulls two tickets from the inner pocket of his coat. “You know what? I have got two extra seats. Why don’t you take them? Bring your daughter. She might like it… Of course make sure she isn’t underage.”
Those were the tickets he took so that he and Gwendolyn could seek out tomorrow and watch the movie with the audience discreetly.
…but it seems like now he needs to take two tickets again.
The driver hesitates. Eyes the tickets, then looks at Regal - sharp suit, calm presence, like someone who doesn’t need to offer kindness but chooses to anyway.
He takes the tickets slowly. Smiles.
“Hey… thanks, Sir.”
Regal steps out into the cool night air.
“Well, here are the waiting charges.” He reaches into his coat again, out of habit - but the driver’s already pulling away, shifting gears.
“No need! You already paid enough. I am not that shameless.”
He gives a quick salute as the cab pulls into traffic and disappears down the block.
Regal watches the taillights fade, caught off-guard by the gesture.
“Wait—”
Too late.
He exhales. Rock stands nearby, silent.
“You remember the number, right?”
Rock nods.
Regal claps a hand gently on his back. “Good.”
They move together around the side of the building, slipping in through a discreet back entrance.
A quiet hallway. Soft overhead lights.
Regal leads the way, climbing the short stairwell. With a soft creak, the door to the VIP row opens.
….
…and with a back door he was already up in the VIP row—
The door creaked open.
Regal stepped in.
Sunglasses still on, tie loose, coat draped over one arm. He looked like he had just dodged a press ambush, but the only person who noticed him right away was
Samantha, sitting at the end of the row with a clipboard in one hand and an iced coffee in the other.
“You are late.” She hissed.
“Yeah, sorry about that.”
“We were supposed to brief the house fifteen minutes ago.”
Regal didn't respond. “.....”
She narrowed her eyes, then passed him a folded note. “Simon said if you don’t show your face before the halfway mark, he is telling the press you had food poisoning.”
“That was rather touching.”
Regal waves her off. He hears laughter from inside - the scene with Alan talking about the ‘wolf pack’ is playing.
A small smile plays on his lips. He straightens his jacket, then steps in.
….
We see the four standing on the rooftop. The sun sets behind them - Regal’s cinematographer making sure the city glows like it’s made of fire.
Phil raises a bottle of Jägermeister. Alan has his own flask.
“To a night we’ll never forget.”
Alan quietly. “I want to be part of the wolf pack.”
The audience is quieter now—leaning in.
Alan’s speech is slow, heartfelt, and just weird enough to work.
“When I met you guys, I thought of myself as a lone wolf… but now I see there are four of us.”
Zach’s sincerity sells it.
Phil blinks—then nods. They clink bottles.
The camera pans up to the night sky…
…and cuts to black.
…..
A child cries in the distance. Feathers float in the air like ash. The piano is upside-down. A rooster sits atop a lampshade.
Stu stumbles out in his underwear, his mouth slightly open.
He walks to the mirror. Look at himself. Freezes.
“Why is there a hole in my smile?”
Phil walks by, shirtless, completely calm.
“You’re missing a tooth.”
“Yeah, no kidding, Sherlock. Where is it?!”
“I dunno. Maybe you gave it to a stripper as a gift.”
Alan strolls in, rubbing his eyes. “We had strippers? Cool. Did any of them... have feathers?”
Phil. “No, that’s from the goose.”
“There was a goose?!”
“There is a goose. Right there.”
He points. A goose sits on the minibar, sipping from a glass of orange juice.
Stu opens the bathroom door. A roar erupts.
Alan. “Oh good, the tiger’s still asleep.”
Phil totally deadpanned.
“That’s not our tiger.”
….
They’re standing in the wrecked living room, silent.
The guys realize Doug is missing. Stu finds a hospital bracelet in his pocket. Alan finds a chicken nugget in his sock.
….and Stu stares at his hand.
“Why am I wearing a wedding ring?”
Phil takes a long drag of his cigar.
Cut to them standing in disbelief. Keanu looks into the mirror with a deadly serious expression.
“We need to start over. And no one tells Tracy anything until we find Doug. Or his body.”
Alan perks up.
“Oooh, scavenger hunt!”
Hard cut to black.
…..
In almost every theatre across the states, as the so-called ‘bathroom’ scene plays - one after one, even the most stoic began busting out for life. Hard.
When Alan walks into the bathroom, opens the door, and realises there is a tiger.
A gasp rolls through the theater - followed by a few beats of stunned laughter. Then people erupt as the scene plays out - one man claps his hand over his mouth, wheezing.
The baby in the closet draws more laughter - not just at the gag itself, but how casually they carry him around. People shift in their seats, exchanging glances with friends.
It’s clear now: this isn’t just another comedy.
It’s absurd and well-paced.
By now, the audience has stopped trying to predict what is coming - they are fully along for the ride.
.
…..
[To be continued…]
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