If we believe what movies tell us — which of course we always do — the best bachelor parties are actually the worst bachelor parties. We shouldn’t be content to have dinner with our friends, play some laser tag and, if everyone’s cool with it, respectfully support our friendly neighborhood sex workers at their place of business. No, no. We’re not having a real bachelor party unless we’re coked out of our minds, on the run from the cops, smuggling illegal whale organs and/or getting kidnapped by our unfriendly neighborhood drug lords. It’s not about having a good time, it’s about making memories. And entertaining an unseen, half-distracted audience on Netflix.
“72 Hours” is the latest in a long line of comedies about stag parties where everything goes wrong. A lot of these allegedly funny films are difficult to distinguish from horror movies, which either makes them funnier, unfunnier or merely unpleasant. “Very Bad Things” is a disturbing, cynical nightmare. “The Hangover” would be a disturbing, cynical nightmare with just a few minor changes. We know, because “The Hangover 2” is a disturbing, cynical nightmare with just a few minor changes.
But “72 Hours” isn’t upsetting and it isn’t cynical. It’s got a real heart, and also a real Hart. It’s not particularly funny but some of the characters feel real, or real enough for this kind of genre exercise, and they earn our affection. The best comedies make you care and also make you laugh, but one out of two is — in this very specific instance — not bad.
Kevin Hart stars as Joe, an advertising executive who’s afraid he’s losing touch with the youth demographic. He has 72 hours to completely revamp his pitch for a vodka brand and make it connect with Generation Z. When he’s accidentally added to a group text about a bachelor party in Miami, the kids jokingly invite him to come with, so he offers to pay for a fancy Airbnb in exchange for the experience.
Joe could, of course, tell these youngsters he’s doing market research, and offer to pay for their epic weekend in exchange for some photos and videos and interviews. There’s a good chance they’d have said yes. Instead, he keeps his ulterior motives a secret because that’s what people do in movies, not because it makes sense.
Mason, played by Mason Gooding (a distracting coincidence), is the guy getting married. His best friend Nick (Marcello Hernández) thinks Mason’s throwing his life away, but he wants to spend one last weekend bonding before this chapter in their lives is over. Hunter (Ben Marshall) and Freshman (Kam Patterson) are comic relief. Whenever you need someone to be a weenie, that’s Hunter. Whenever you need someone to be foolish, that’s Freshman.
“72 Hours” plays like a chill, friendly comedy got hijacked by a wacky high-concept Kevin Hart movie. Strike that: two wacky high-concept Kevin Hart movies. Not only is Kevin Hart insidiously deceiving these kids, and doing ridiculous things to stay in their good graces — even after “wacky” mistakes like almost getting them arrested for human trafficking — but he also accidentally convinces Miami’s top drug dealers that he’s a rival kingpin with a crappy “Scarface” accent named Ricardo Montana.
The script for “72 Hours,” written by four people (that we know of), is smart enough to openly confront its flaws. It’s not always smart enough to overcome those flaws, but at least it’s aware they exist. The characters in Tim Story’s film acknowledge that Hart’s gangster persona, which he inexplicably transforms into whenever he snorts cocaine, is a racist caricature. That doesn’t prevent the film from indulging in that racist caricature, under the misguided belief that admitting your joke is offensive makes it perfectly okay. But at least somebody in the film says something, since otherwise we’d wonder why nobody’s saying anything.
The young men in “72 Hours” are also pretty good guys. They care about each other’s feelings so, while they do want to have a wild time, it’s not their top priority. Many comedies would have waited a long while for Nick, the seemingly immature guy who doesn’t want his best friend to get married, to have a sensitive heart-to-Hart where he says the contrived set-up is getting in the way of what really matters about this weekend. In this film, Nick has the talk with Joe right away, immediately after they meet, and it’s a refreshing change of pace. They even come to a sensible understanding: If Joe is getting in the way, Nick will tell Joe to back off, and Joe will do it.
That’s healthy. It’s not what happens, since otherwise “72 Hours” wouldn’t be a big goofy comedy, but it’s nice that the film acknowledges not everyone is a cartoon. It’s a good thing to be in touch with your feelings. Younger generations have a lot of positive qualities older people could learn from. Mason Gooding has some wonderful scenes where he talks about how he’s genuinely excited to be married, that he loves his fiancée, and that he doesn’t have childish hang-ups about commitment. He’s not boring, he’s content. That’s admirable. We like him. We like his friends.
Kevin Hart, however, is playing a duplicitous jerk, and “72 Hours” overestimates how much slack we’re willing to cut him. He’s lying to these kindhearted guys, prioritizing a harebrained scheme instead of asking his girlfriend, played by Teyana Taylor, to marry him. And really, that’s the film’s biggest flaw. Our hero has better things to do than literally everything he does in this film. He could be home with Teyana Taylor, building a life together. Instead, he’s stealing jet skis and pooping his pants. A lot of ridiculous things happen in comedies like “72 Hours,” but that’s the part that’s hard to believe.
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