They couldn't have picked a rowdier bar in all of Las Vegas. I can't even inquire about the cast and crew's absence through the wall of bartenders performing their Lord of the Dance number atop the bar. The only woman not busy steppin' to Steppenwolf is busy berating a customer with peach fuzz on his chin and a lei around his neck.
"I can't fuckin' decide if you look more like Gilligan or Shaggy from Scooby-Doo!" she screams.
I make my way to the bouncer, who doesn't know where the Beer crew is either. He recommends I talk to the owner.
"She's behind the bar, in the beige top," he says, pointing to the woman accosting Shaggy/Gilligan.
"I mean it! You'd better take off that lei or it'll be the only lay you see tonight!"
Returning to the heart of the bedlam, I sidle up to the bar and jump back just in time to narrowly avoid a kicked shot glass. I'm forced to make way yet again as a Jack Russell Terrier darts past. Why is someone not filming this?
It turns out the cast and crew were enjoying a late dinner. The eight Long Island natives finally stroll in around midnight, and I meet the writer/director/editor/co-star of the bunch, Peter Hoare, who's a dead ringer for Ryan Reynolds. He introduces me to two castmates, Tommy Gutter and Poon Man, who, with his rock-star hair and tattoos up and down his arms, looks like a miniature Tommy Lee. The three observe the surrounding drunken mob with an air of nervous trepidation. As the only people in the bar who are even marginally sober, the troupe has a lot of catching up to do.
With a pair of handheld video cameras, Hoare and a second cameraman gather some footage of the crowd and dancing bartenders, giving their fellow comedians sufficient time to get blasted. Poon Man takes to the task enthusiastically with a series of shot challenges.
"I don't know why, but people love to do shots with this guy," Gutter says. "Last night we did a bar in LA, and a porn star went shot for shot with Poon Man. Of course, he was drinking tequila, and she was drinking water ..."
"Ready to see me puke?" Poon Man interrupts, already more than a little tipsy.
"Dude, don't get us thrown out of here," Gutter says wearily.
"No, I mean back at the hotel."
"Dude, don't get us thrown out of the hotel, either. I'm serious."
I can't help but wonder how often this sort of thing has happened. (Suddenly, Poon Man begins flailing his limbs in an impromptu dance number.) Probably pretty often.
The rest of the shoot consists of Poon Man's inebriated choreography, punctuated by comments directed into the camera by the rest of the cast. After just an hour and a half, Hoare decides he has all the footage he needs.
Outside, I ask where they're off to next.
"Back to Long Island," Hoare says. "This is the last stop. It's been fun, but it's been brutal. I'm ready to sleep in my own bed again."
Before Hoare can put away the camera, a bouncer bursts out of the door and tosses Poon Man to the sidewalk. The ejected castmate staggers to his feet as Hoare uncaps his lens for an explanation.
"Apparently," Poon Man stammers, "they have this rule that only women are allowed to dance on the bar. Doesn't make any sense to me."
With that, Poon Man walks a meandering path down the sidewalk toward Fremont Street, while the rest of the Beer guys quickly pack up their gear to chase after him. I guess that's a wrap.