I walked into the AMC Empire 25, last week, dreading this film. I had read Tucker Max’s book beforehand, and I was aware of his signature brand of misogyny and goofy college 20-something male antics, but nothing could really prepare me for what was to come. The projector broke not once but twice before they could properly start and project this disaster onto the theater’s screen. Bad omen? I’d say so.

Earlier that day, I had the honor of interviewing Tucker Max himself in a midtown restaurant. After expressing concern that the film was going to take the route of other various gross-out or teen comedies, Max was quick to assure me that his film wasn’t like that. He was quite confident that he had crafted something great, and cited Mike Judge of Office Space as one of his main inspirations. Let me assure you, I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell pales in comparison, and that’s putting it lightly.

If you’re familiar with Tucker Max’s book of the same name, the film adaptation follows the plot of the decidedly epic “road trip” essay but throws in some morals and a flimsy romantic subplot to stretch the runtime to a little over 90 minutes. Tucker (Matt Czuchry) and his two friends, Drew and Dan (Geoff Stults and Jesse Bradford), decide to go on a road trip to an infamous strip club as an elaborate bachelor party for Dan. As the trip continues onward, we learn that Tucker is an asshole that doesn’t particularly care about his friends, and that Drew has serious emotional issues, among other things. None of this is particularly shocking.

Tucker Max

Max’s book is very episodic, and the stories that are contained within simply do not translate well to the screen. There wasn’t much depth to Max’s writing in its original form, and this was acceptable in blog and book form but doesn’t work in the form of a screenplay where something besides inappropriate antics is required to propel it along. Much of the film’s screenplay, which Max penned himself, is made up of offensive comments that aren’t even particularly creative nor amusing, and tons of tasteless sexual innuendo. A lengthy and generally unnecessary rant on the awe-inspiring properties of a McGriddle-esque fast food sandwich stands out as being particularly mind-numbing and tedious.

I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell has several chances to redeem itself in an attempt to make it a somewhat palatable film, but instead chooses to wrap itself up with two particularly horrifying sequences, one of which involves copious amounts of poop. The other, a party, launches the film into an almost surreal alternate universe, as all of the guests are white yet all of the servers are black. No, this isn’t played for laughs. As I walked out of the theater among hoards of Tucker Max fans who were singing praise of the film they had just seen, I myself was not amused. Despite Tucker’s overly high level of confidence, I can safely say that he has crafted one of the most unappealing films I have ever had the displeasure of seeing as a film critic. On my way home, I tossed the promotional materials that I received into a trashcan in an impromptu act of cleansing. It was the least I could do.