Great comedies are in short supply these days, but “72 Hours” offers a reminder that a crime subplot can quickly ruin even a potentially average plot. Directed by Tim Story (“Barbershop,” “Ride Along”) and written by Jon Hurwitz and Hayden Schlossberg (the “Harold & Kumar” trilogy, “American Reunion”), this modern retread of “Hangover” didn’t need to do anything more than, you know, deliver laughs to tickle the audience. But even with a cast led by Kevin Hart and packed with “Saturday Night Live” alums Marcello Hernandez, Ben Marshall and Kam Patterson, this Netflix summer creation frantically (and disappointingly) throws everything against the wall in the hopes that something sticks.

Hart plays Joe, a 40-year-old advertising executive who is mistakenly added to a group text for Mason’s (Mason Gooding) bachelor party in Miami, hosted by his 20-something friends Nick (Hernández), Hunter (Marshall) and Freshman (Patterson). When a colleague calls his latest campaign for a vodka brand “embarrassing,” threatening an upcoming promotion, Joe convinces Mason and his friends to invite him to join them, hoping to gain a more intimate knowledge of a younger generation of consumers.

The prospect of attending a raucous three-day party on South Beach is disappointing news for Joe’s girlfriend, Jennifer (Teyana Taylor), who is awaiting her own proposal. But even after renting an Airbnb to ingratiate themselves with the group, Mason and especially Nick reluctantly agree to let Joe join their activities. At first he fails to gain their trust, but after visiting a yacht party, Joe is forced to take cocaine, unleashing a Tony Montana-like alter ego whose flamboyant and destructive behavior pits them against a mysterious drug dealer convinced that Joe is invading his territory.

Whether as a true generational touchstone or simply a laugh-inducing diversion every few years, remaking “The Hangover” in some capacity every few years is not only a welcome experience for a certain segment of the movie audience, but probably good business practice for studios. The problem with this idea, as “72 Hours” demonstrates, is that filmmakers feel the need to outdo their predecessors, or even themselves, at every attempt. As a result, it no longer seems possible to tell the story of five boys who spend a couple of wild nights without introducing a series of escalating, even ridiculous, events. (“The Hangover,” of course, also includes a crime subplot, but despite his status as a promoter of this subgenre, Todd Phillips at least knew how to use it for laughs instead of serious emotions).

The premise here is pretty solid: what happens when a kid old enough to know better decides to get into some young adult shenanigans? Of course, Joe insists at one point that “40 is the new 20,” and culturally speaking, that seems true these days, so maybe immaturity knows no age limit. Not to mention the fact that the “Old School” successfully tackled this concept almost 25 years ago. But aside from a handful of uncle jokes and an unfortunate pregame incident involving Pepto-Bismol, the film elicits surprisingly little humor from the generational divide between Hart (who might be more compelling at 47, his actual age) and his younger counterparts. (That the bachelor and his friends are in their 30s further flattens the differences between them and Joe.) Instead, it’s your wallet that’s most valuable to both the characters and the writers, lubricating luxury and access when twenty-somethings can’t afford something.

Meanwhile, the writers introduce Joe’s attempt to unlock the secret lives of young adults for his ad campaign (evoking ulterior motive films like “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days” and “27 Dresses”), a competing bachelorette party whose members are not what they seem (think Ilana Glazer in “The Night Before”) and, of course, the mysterious drug dealer who inexplicably rents out his mansion to anyone with a credit card but inadvertently fails to save lock up your valuables. The script is intended to reflect some of the character dynamics of the incomparable “Bridesmaids,” in particular the relationship between the soon-to-be-married Mason and his best friend Nick, stuck in the past. But the film can’t decide whether it really wants to give its cast substantial material to explore or attack them with vomit, cocaine, and whale sperm (!) as a way to ensure audience participation.

Working under the watchful eye of his “Ride Along” director, Hart continues to maintain a pleasing screen presence as the well-intentioned but out of his depth Joe, but he does himself (and his wildly inconsistent filmography) no favors with this project. Much of Hart’s appeal lies in his willingness to be the butt of the joke, and there are plenty here at his expense (thankfully not as many as usual, pointing to his diminutive stature). But what’s missing from his performance (perhaps starting with the writing) is the palpable life experience that gives him an edge when his young friends get into trouble. Clearly, Joe made enough bad decisions in his early days to create (and survive) “Ricardo Montana” as an alter ego, but as the film progresses, he seems less like an elder statesman than an old man trying to live vicariously through his counterparts.

This is Hernandez’s second film role, and he seems ready to break out in the same way he did on “Saturday Night Live,” but while he’s fun, there’s not enough character here to really make him stand out. Patterson, on the other hand, appears in a way he rarely has on television and delivers a memorable performance as the group’s resident idiot. Meanwhile, Taylor, recently nominated for an Oscar, arrives from another film with a solid performance that this one doesn’t deserve. Additional supporting turns from other TV stalwarts (“Better Call Saul” alum Michael Mando, “Severance” standout Zach Cherry, “Veep” scene-stealer Kevin Dunn) hint at a better, less crazy odyssey left by the wayside.

Story’s work is no different than Hart’s, in that every fairly good movie he’s made is significantly outnumbered by the bad ones. Their latest release falls somewhere in the middle of that spectrum: It’s not entirely horrible, but it struggles to communicate how much fun its audience should be having instead of, well, just being fun. The irony of moving forward with “The Hangover” is that even Phillips seemed bewildered by its success, or perhaps even resentful; perhaps that’s why he made a blatant copycat with the second film and an antagonistic drama with the third. But not unlike the hangover itself, “72 Hours” is a movie that reminds you of the specter of the past; The problem is that it never offers enough good moments to make the painful consequences worth it.