Movie Title: THE DEGENs Genre Raunchy, unfiltered buddy comedy / midlife redemption heist Tone: The Hangover × Superbad × The Nice Guys with crypto chaos and zero apologies. Logline Six broken, crypto-obsessed strangers get brutally rugged at an NFT afterparty, hijack the wreckage, and accidentally form the most dysfunctional found-family crew while chasing their money across the country — and learning how to be men again in the process. Tagline: They lost everything, then found each other. Trailer Closer (slow-motion): The six of them walking away from flaming wreckage. John limping in front with a cigar and that signature smirk. UK carrying a drunk Dave over his shoulder. Frank passing the joint. Mike screaming his son’s latest stats. Liam yelling at his phone, “I’ve got the founder’s wallet address!” R-rated. Filthy. Surprisingly heartfelt. Stupidly rewatchable. The Characters John (48): Tall, tanned, and limping with that effortless debonair Southern charm, John moves like a divorced rodeo cowboy who’s already survived the apocalypse and tipped the bartender on his way out. Sun-kissed year-round, quick with a wink and a whiskey neat, he gives zero fucks about anything except a good time and a clean exit. His marriage imploded years ago in spectacular fashion; now he lives for the chase — charming investors, flirting with danger, and never letting anyone see the quiet ache underneath the grin. In the group he becomes the reluctant glue, the one who smooth-talks security, cracks the perfect joke at 3 a.m., and keeps the chaos from swallowing them whole. Frank (52): Short, stocky, and perpetually husky, Frank is the complaining veteran who carries the weight of three rescue dogs, two kids, a mortgage, and a wife who runs the house like a five-star general. Always “borrowing” weed money while secretly doing just fine, he chain-smokes joints to dull the daily “war pains” — a mix of old deployments and the slow grind of middle age. He bitches about everything (his back, the price of gas, the kids’ braces), yet underneath the grumbling is a man who’d take a bullet for his family or his new brothers without hesitation. The rug pull hits him hardest because he was counting on flipping those NFTs to finally feel like the provider again. Mike (45): Tall, husky, and built like the linebacker he used to be, Mike is the sports-fanatic dad who never shuts up about his kid in the majors. Every story starts with “My boy just…” — good-faith bragging that somehow still exhausts everyone around him. Married, loud, and the undisputed wild card, he’s the guy who starts every fight, finishes every bottle, and can drink the bar dry while still standing. He loves starting shit almost as much as he loves his family, but the constant hype is his armor against the fear that he peaked in high school. The adventure forces him to channel that chaos into something bigger than another bar brawl. Dave (38): Skinny, vegan, and chronically hen-pecked, Dave is the weak link who says “yes dear” to his dominating wife even when she’s not in the room. Father of three kids (only one biologically his — he knows it, swallows it, and smiles anyway), he wears his wife’s approval like a leash and has spent years shrinking himself to keep the peace. Thin, pale, and quietly terrified of conflict, he starts the movie as the guy who apologizes to furniture. But the rug pull and the crew awaken something feral in him — a slow-burning strength no one (least of all himself) saw coming. By the end he’s the one throwing the first punch and meaning it. UK (41): Bald, ripped, scarred-up British pig farmer built like a brick shithouse, UK is hard as coffin nails and twice as unforgiving. A walking contradiction — he loves his wife and kids with a fierce, protective tenderness, yet he’s also the heart of his local football hooligan firm, the bloke who’ll glass a cunt on Saturday and kiss his pigs goodnight on Sunday. Zero filter, zero fear, and a scar that runs from eyebrow to jawline telling stories he’ll never fully share. He flew in for the NFT drop because “some dodgy cunt promised 100x on me pigs.” When the rug hits, UK doesn’t cry — he headbutts the bouncer and turns the funeral into a war party. Liam (22): Pale, scrawny, and still living at home, Liam is the over-20 man-child with obvious mineral deficiencies who looks sixteen and acts like he’s never seen daylight. Quiet, awkward, vitamin-D starved, and forever hunched over a cracked laptop, he’s the group’s reluctant crypto genius — the only one who actually understands wallets, seed phrases, and on-chain forensics. His mom still does his laundry and he’s never had a real job, but when the screens go red and the rug pulls, Liam’s the one who hijacks the projector, traces the founder’s wallet, and quietly becomes the brains behind every insane plan that follows. Detailed Opening Sequence: “Leaving Home” John The opening shot begins with an alarm blaring. The camera slowly pans through a semi-nice suburban house — stylish but lived-in, not dirty, just needing a quick pickup. Empty beer bottles and scattered clothes hint at last night’s fun. The camera glides into the master bedroom to find John (48) sound asleep in the middle of his king bed at 7:00 a.m. Two women are passed out on either side of him. With a groan, John pushes their limp, sleeping bodies off him and onto the floor. They land with a thud and don’t move, still dead asleep. John lights a cigarette in one smooth motion, takes a long drag, runs a hand through his messy hair, then swings his legs out of bed — already moving with that signature Southern swagger and limp as he starts getting ready for the airport. Frank The camera starts zoomed in tight on a glass bowl packed with cannabis. A fat cloud of smoke fills the frame as Frank (52) takes a deep hit in the garage of a decent, slightly cluttered suburban home. In the background we hear the full chaotic morning soundtrack — kids yelling, wife shouting about the braces bill, and three energetic service dogs barking and running around. Frank coughs hard after the hit, eyes watering. He winces and rubs his lower back — an old non-combat injury from a training accident where he slipped a disc while loading heavy gear. He keeps packing anyway: stuffing edibles and vapes into his worn satchel like a pro. He steps inside, kisses his wife and kids goodbye in a quick, gruff flurry. As he heads out the door, two of the dogs latch onto his knee and back, playfully holding him in place while barking at the waiting Uber driver to help with his bags. Frank limps toward the car with the satchel slung over his shoulder. Mike The camera opens on a loud, messy suburban kitchen counter covered in baseball trophies and protein shake containers. Morning sunlight streams in as Mike (45), tall and husky in a team polo shirt, stands scarfing down a massive breakfast while blasting a sports podcast on speakerphone. He’s excitedly yelling into the phone: “Yeah, my boy just hit two homers and stole a base last night — kid’s a goddamn superstar!” His wife tries to get a word in while packing his suitcase with snacks and clothes. Mike high-fives his younger kid, grabs the suitcase covered in baseball stickers, and struts out the front door like he’s walking onto the field for a championship game. He tosses the bag into the back of the minivan, still bragging as he climbs in and peels out for the airport. UK The camera opens on a muddy pigpen at dawn, golden light breaking over the English countryside. British punk music is blasting from a speaker somewhere on the farm. UK (41), bald, ripped, and scarred, is crouched among his pigs, affectionately checking on each one — scratching their ears, rubbing their bellies, and speaking to them in a low, gruff voice. “Oi, you lot alright? I won’t go if you don’t want me to. Just say the word and I’ll stay right here with ya.” The pigs snort and nudge him hard, physically shoving him toward the gate as if telling him to piss off and leave. UK chuckles, gives them all one last pat, then heads inside. He kisses his wife passionately and hugs his kids tightly. Before walking out, he pauses at the wall: touches the small wooden cross, then runs his hand over a replica of England’s last World Cup trophy, and finally taps a gothic-style framed picture of the Queen. He grabs his bag and climbs into his muddy Land Rover, still blasting British punk as he tears off down the lane. Dave The camera opens on a spotless, minimalist kitchen counter lined with kale smoothies, vitamin bottles, and a neatly typed “Travel Rules” list. Soft morning light filters in as Dave (38), skinny and pale in a cardigan, stands awkwardly while his domineering wife reads the list out loud in a sharp voice. “No alcohol. No red meat. Call every night at 8 p.m. sharp. And remember — you’re on a reward, so don’t embarrass me.” Dave nods repeatedly, murmuring “Yes dear” on autopilot. He kisses her cheek obediently, then bends down to kiss each of his three kids on the forehead. His wife hands him his small eco-friendly backpack (pre-packed with vegan snacks and hand sanitizer). He hesitates at the front door, glancing back at his family like he’s considering calling the whole trip off. After a long beat, he forces a weak smile, steps outside, and climbs into the waiting Uber without another word. Liam The camera opens on a dimly lit, basement-style bedroom that smells like stale Red Bull and unwashed laundry. Crispy, stiff socks hang from the edge of his blanket, half-naked anime posters cover the walls, and empty energy drink cans litter the floor. Liam (22), pale, scrawny, and hunched, is sitting on the edge of his unmade bed in the same hoodie he’s worn for three days. He stuffs his cracked laptop, charging cables, and a pile of energy drink cans into a beat-up backpack, then pauses to carefully check his gaming setup — making sure his favorite keyboard and mouse are safely packed. He quickly opens his laptop for one last look at the blockchain charts, refreshing a couple of wallets with nervous energy. His mom barges in, ironing one of his shirts while lecturing him: “You better eat something real while you’re gone. And don’t spend all my money on that stupid internet nonsense!” Liam mumbles “Yeah, Mom…” and quietly sneaks her credit card from her open purse when she turns around. He zips the backpack, throws it over one shoulder, and shuffles upstairs like he’s walking to his own funeral. At the front door his mom forces a granola bar into his hand and hugs him too tightly. Liam stands there awkwardly, arms limp at his sides, then slips out the door. He squints painfully at the bright sunlight, pulls his hood up, and climbs into the Uber without looking back. Smash cut to a rapid montage of TSA security lines, boarding gates, overhead bins slamming shut, and planes taking off. Hard cut back to Airport. Baggage Claim – Las Vegas Airport The six men slowly converge at the bustling baggage claim carousel without realizing it. They’re all waiting for their bags in the same crowded space, still total strangers. As they stand there, they start quietly noticing each other and muttering under their breath. John leans against a pillar, lighting a cigarette he shouldn’t be smoking indoors. He watches Frank struggling with his satchel and mutters with a smirk, “That boy looks like he’s carrying the whole pharmacy in that bag…” Frank rubs his lower back, wincing as he waits. He eyes Mike loudly yapping on the phone and grumbles, “Jesus Christ… shut the fuck up about your kid for five seconds.” Mike paces near the carousel, still on speakerphone bragging about his son’s latest game. He clocks UK’s scarred, muscular build and mutters, “Damn, that bald dude looks like he’d fight a bear and win.” UK stands with his arms crossed, staring everyone down. He notices skinny Dave clutching his eco-backpack and snorts, “Fucking hell… that lad looks like he’d snap if someone offered him a steak.” Dave stands rigidly, following his wife’s rules even here. He watches hooded Liam glued to his laptop and whispers, “That poor kid probably hasn’t seen real food or sunlight in years…” Liam slouches against the wall, refreshing blockchain charts. He glances at the group of older guys and mumbles, “These boomers are all gonna get rugged so fucking hard…” They make brief eye contact here and there, but quickly look away — six completely separate men with zero idea they’re about to team up for the wildest weekend of their lives. The bags start dropping. They grab their luggage and head toward the exits, still oblivious. Hard cut to the neon explosion of NFTCon 2026 — flashy Las Vegas-adjacent convention center pulsing with hype, Lambos on display, and pure degenerate energy in the air.