This is truly a historic day for these United States of America, because the trailer for the Entourage movie — that long-awaited, breathlessly anticipated cinematic Declaration of Independence from the tyranny of a world in which we have no idea what Vinny Chase and the gang have been up to since late 2011 — has finally arrived as promised, unaccompanied by threats of renegade powers determined to wreak havoc upon our premium-champagne-drenched, plushly red-carpeted way of life. (Oh, hey, there’s news about some other less controversial film, too. Weird coincidence.) Behold, our first glimpse of greatness:
Welcome back, Ari Gold, mega-agent turned studio chief who recklessly entrusts a nine-figure blockbuster to a first-time director out of some misguided sense of loyalty to the fading superstar who helped build his empire. (Only $15 million over their agreed cost? That’s your BlackBerry replacement budget.) Hello, Vince, expertly playing the Affleck card to get yourself behind the camera, even if it’s as a DJ infected with the circulatory lava-sickness from Iron Man 3. Hey, E, maybe better luck in the second trailer? What up, Turtle, we’re as shocked as Ronda Rousey that you would destroy your personal brand with a few trips to the UFC gym. And Drama, sweet Drama, don’t get all bananas over it: Little bro’s never gonna let Marky Mark intimidate Ari into cutting you out of the movie, won’t let Billy Bob scare him into playing it safe, won’t let Haley Joel force you to give up your secret family pancake recipe at automatic rifle–point. He’s watching out for you, like always. If Vince seems unreasonably cool in the line of fire, it’s because no matter how bad things look in the moment, he knows that by the end of that last reel, you’ll all be standing defiantly atop the Hollywood sign, watching the subjugated city below tremble beneath the seismic success-quake of your triumphant group high five. (It’s also because he’s baked out of his mind. Turtle put some money into a vape start-up, and holy shit, it’s like a chorus of THC-spewing angels are screaming “Oh yeah!” directly into your brain.)
The boys, it would seem, are back. Call off Christmas. This is all the gift we need.