In movies, parties are almost always amazing. Even the terrible ones. That’s because it’s in that hyperactive space – whether it lasts for one sequence or for the film’s entire running time – where characters can be pushed into situations that offer profound revelations or blasts of self-awareness or the opportunity to redefine themselves. Viewers of these fictitious blowouts (that’s you) walk away conflicted, their hedonistic impulses tweaked or else vaguely aware of the dispiriting truth I mentioned above. But at least for a moment the film allowed you to indulge in immature fantasies about how much more fun life would be if a really definitive party could take the dull tragedy out of your terrible job/spouse/offspring/overall dissatisfaction with existence. You get to fake drive a fake car into a fake pool and suffer no consequences.
Here are some nights to remember: