I think "The Hangover" movies would work better as a whole movie genre. The beginning is always the same: group of friends wake up hungover as hell, to start figuring out what the hell happened last night. Turns out a lot happened. As a tradition of the genre, there's always an animal in the house that has no logical reason to be there.
But get this: The same premise every time, but in wildly different times and places. Victorian England, the gentlemen went fuckshit with some nice sherry, wrote some questionable letters, worked together to compose an absolutely idiotic thinkpiece essay and sent it to the local newsprint (the publishing of it must be stopped) and for some reason there's an ostrich.
A troupe of travelling performers in the late Kofun period wake up in the stables of an inn, and the main plot point is the little beast sleeping on someone's chest. None of them have ever seen a cat before, but one knows enough to tell that those are imperial pets, and whoever's fucking cat that is will both be capable and willing to kill whoever stole it. So they'd better fucking return it.
A Tepehuan group of youths find themselves way out of the place that they last remember they had been, for some reason someone's balls have been shaved and painted red, and the strange out of place animal sleeping at their makeshift campsite is some random swedish guy. The spaniards don't seem to know how the fuck he ended up there, either, but they clearly do not have a mutual language with each other.
The amount of stories my husband has told me of his time before we met. His life was basically a constant hangover movie. The most memorable was him and his friend went to the local beach to drink and hoped to pick up some girls. Next thing he knows it's 10 hours later and he's literally waking up with his face down in a plate of food at a golden corral buffet. His friends head had been shaved all the way including his eyebrows and EYELASHES. One of my husband's legs was painted blue (he didnt find that out for a while because he had khaki pants on which was really wild cause hed went to the beach in swim trunks and he didn't even own a pair of khaki pants). They couldn't find my husband's truck. They eventually found his truck 2 counties over in a different state. The beach they'd went to originally was in the same county as the golden corral, just 30 minutes north of the beach. So how his truck ended up an hour and a half west of them and how they made it to the restaurant they never did figure out especially since the house that his truck was at, they didn't know they people. My husband had apparently took a grease pen and wrote his number real big on the tailgate and that's how he was able to locate his truck cause they called him the next day. They never found out how/why any of it happened though.
