Hot Tub Time Machine (henceforth referred to as HTTM) is a refreshing dose of low-concept comedy, made impressive in both in its own inherent, bloated ridiculousness (see plot-description functioning title) and the full-on commitment it receives both in front of and behind the camera. “Do I really get to be the as***le who says we got in the hot tub and went back in time?” says Jacob (Clark Duke), at once confirming the at-hand obvious and skewering plot condescenders, whose presumptive notions of what constitutes worthwhile subject matter can be thanked for at least half of any given year’s worthless Oscar snoozers. Assuming the ridiculous to be possible (vis-à-vis Chevy Chase’s creepy repair man), HTTM achieves both consistent hilarity and the freakishly sublime. Think of it as the bastard punk offspring of Back to the Future and Groundhog Day.
Like Robert Zemeckis’s aforementioned 80s cornerstone, HTTM finds our protagonists with a unique opportunity to visit/revisit the past and, for better or worse, make some alterations. An epic skiing getaway one 1986 weekend still lingers in the minds of three long-time, distant-of-late friends: Adam (John Cusack), Nick (Craig Robins) and Lou (Rob Corddry), who decide to revisit the spot for some down time after what might have been a suicide attempt by the latter.
Adam’s live-in nephew Jacob tags along, and so too is transported to the twice-removed decade by their malfunctioning hot tub (the reason for this is one of the film’s best jokes, a la product name). Quick to realize their circumstances and their frightening implications, the group is initially fearful of creating a potential butterfly effect on future events; they eventually break down under the circumstances and begin changing the previously established flow of the evening (herein lies of the film’s great payoffs).
After unfortunately partaking in Roland Emmerich monstrosity 2012, John Cusack assures us that he’s still got it, playing up HTTM’s absurdity with an assured straight man performance. Corddry and Robins are in contrast – the id and ego, respectively, while the doubly bizarre circumstances Duke's Jacob eventually finds himself in place him outside easy categorization. Unpretentiously, HTTM dispatches with known or stated rules about time travel, instead allowing its events to pass without inherent logical conflicts or contradictions (a comedic nugget for the ages, Nick’s early freak-out, in which he rants exasperatingly about the central time travel device of the Terminator films, effectively denounces all faux seriousness).
Comically conducive and appropriate to boot, HTTM practically invites substance usage, legal or not. The initial time-travel montage and an unfortunate bet payoff sequence late in the film achieve something like Lynchian spectacle in their freak-out factor. Like many revered comedies that failed to find a theatrical foothold, the financially underperforming HTTM will likely improve in sales and general popularity on DVD, where it will outlive flippant ad campaigns and find its audience.
Among the best that attempt such, HTTM effectively juggles both R-rated tastelessness and genuine emotions (rare is the comedy that can both sympathetically portray a character and make a running gag at their mortal expense), and furthermore, is that hard-to-find, past-centric comedy that doesn’t tastelessly derive snarky humor from what was simply once popular (the “What color is Michael Jackson” gag is deceptively significant, as it illustrates that which we take for granted). As far as great comedies go, HTTM is certainly imperfect, but it has classic status written all over it.
- Director: Steve Pink
- Screenplay: Josh Heald and Sean Anders & John Morris
- Cast: John Cusack, Clark Duke, Craig Robinson, Rob Corddry, Sebastian Stan, Lyndsy Fonseca, Crispin Glover, Chevy Chase, Lizzy Caplan, Collette Wolfe
- 93 minutes, Rated R, 2010
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