Miss March: When Comedy Tried to Grow Up (and Stumbled Along the Way)
When Miss March hit theatres in 2009, audiences didn’t know quite what to expect. The trailers promised a wild sex comedy in the style of American Pie or Road Trip, full of outrageous humor and over-the-top antics. But beneath its crude exterior, there was a strange sincerity — a film that, in its own chaotic way, tried to talk about innocence, friendship, and growing up too late.
Directed by Trevor Moore and Zach Cregger, both stars of the sketch-comedy group The Whitest Kids U’ Know, Miss March was their first big leap from cult TV fame to Hollywood filmmaking. What started as a passion project quickly became one of the most misunderstood comedies of its time — a film mocked for its tone but secretly layered with commentary on fame, purity, and the absurdity of American sexual ideals.
The Story That Sounded Simple but Wasn’t
At first glance, Miss March looks like a typical raunchy road trip movie. It follows Eugene (Zach Cregger), a shy teenager who plans to lose his virginity to his high-school sweetheart Cindi (Raquel Alessi) on prom night. But just as the night begins, fate intervenes — Eugene falls down the stairs, slips into a coma, and wakes up four years later.
When he finally opens his eyes, the world has changed. His girlfriend is now a Playboy Playmate — Miss March. His best friend Tucker (Trevor Moore) convinces him to hit the road to find her, leading to a cross-country odyssey filled with misfires, misunderstandings, and moments that veer between slapstick and surrealism.
But beneath the surface, the film is really about lost time — the fear of waking up one day and realizing life has moved on without you. Eugene’s coma isn’t just a gag; it’s a metaphor for emotional paralysis, for being stuck between the ideals of teenage innocence and the messy adulthood that follows.
What the Comedy Was Really Laughing At
While most audiences dismissed Miss March as just another sex romp, those who looked closer could see how self-aware it really was. Moore and Cregger weren’t trying to glorify debauchery — they were mocking it. The movie flips the typical “loser gets laid” formula by showing a hero who’s terrified of sex, surrounded by a world that has commodified it.
The Playboy Mansion, often treated as a fantasy symbol in pop culture, becomes a carnival of confusion in the film. Eugene’s attempt to reconnect with Cindi isn’t romantic — it’s painfully awkward, revealing how both have changed beyond recognition. What once seemed pure now feels performative.
In interviews, Trevor Moore explained, “We didn’t want to make a movie about sex. We wanted to make a movie about how weird America is about sex.” That statement, though often overlooked, captures the heart of Miss March. Beneath the crudeness lies a quiet discomfort with how society treats sexuality — both as taboo and as obsession.
Even the character of Tucker, played by Moore, embodies this hypocrisy. He’s a loudmouth dreamer who preaches freedom but constantly causes chaos. His optimism is both infectious and destructive, mirroring how comedy itself can liberate or humiliate depending on who’s laughing.
The Real-Life Comedy Behind the Camera
For Trevor Moore and Zach Cregger, making Miss March was a learning curve as steep as Eugene’s staircase. Coming from The Whitest Kids U’ Know, they were used to full creative control — short sketches, small crews, and unfiltered humor. Hollywood, however, was a different beast.
Reports from production suggested frequent clashes between the duo and studio executives. The studio wanted a safer, more mainstream comedy, while Moore and Cregger insisted on their bizarre, darkly satirical tone. Some scenes were toned down, others rewritten entirely during post-production. What emerged was a movie that felt caught between two worlds — much like its protagonist.
There were also challenges with the budget and tone. The film was shot on a relatively small budget, around $6 million, forcing the directors to rely heavily on improvisation and practical effects. Some of the car stunts were done with minimal safety margins, a decision Moore later admitted “probably wasn’t the smartest, but definitely the funniest.”
Adding to the chaos, several cast changes occurred during early production. The role of Cindi reportedly went through multiple auditions, with rumors that more famous actresses passed due to the explicit script. Raquel Alessi, who eventually took the part, brought a surprising warmth to a role that could have been shallow.
The Stars Who Lived the Joke
Both Moore and Cregger were in unusual places in their careers when Miss March came out. Trevor Moore, known for his sharp satire and anti-establishment humor, often found himself misunderstood by Hollywood producers. He later admitted that Miss March was meant as a “Trojan horse” — a studio-friendly comedy that secretly critiqued the very system it played in.
Zach Cregger, meanwhile, was quieter, more introspective. His character’s awkward sincerity reflected his own personality. Years later, Cregger would reinvent himself as a director of horror with Barbarian (2022), a genre shift that made critics reevaluate his earlier work. Looking back, you can almost see traces of his dark humor and structural experimentation in Miss March — chaos disguised as comedy.
Their off-screen friendship, forged through years of sketch comedy, translated into the film’s energy. The chemistry between Eugene and Tucker feels genuine because, in many ways, it was. Moore once said, “We wrote it like we were talking to each other. The whole movie’s an inside joke that got too big.”
The Hype, the Hate, and the Hidden Cult
When the trailers first dropped, fans of The Whitest Kids U’ Know were ecstatic. The marketing leaned into shock value — absurd gags, wild parties, and a cameo from Playboy founder Hugh Hefner himself. But mainstream audiences, unfamiliar with the duo’s humor, were puzzled. Critics called it “juvenile,” “offensive,” and “tone-deaf.”
Yet, as often happens, time reshaped perception. Over the years, Miss March found a second life online. On Reddit threads and YouTube retrospectives, fans began defending it as an underrated satire. They pointed out how it mocked the very kind of movies it was accused of imitating. Its humor, while crude, had layers — a kind of absurd honesty about youth, failure, and how people chase fantasies that don’t fit them anymore.
For some, the film’s failure became part of its charm. It was flawed, yes, but fearlessly so — the cinematic equivalent of a bad joke that keeps echoing until it becomes profound.
What Viewers Missed Beneath the Madness
There’s a poignant irony to Miss March. It’s a film about waking up from a coma, made by comedians who were about to go quiet. After its release, the duo returned to smaller, edgier projects, realizing that Hollywood’s rules didn’t suit their rhythm. Trevor Moore, who tragically passed away in 2021, left behind a legacy of comedy that questioned everything — from politics to pop culture — with the same reckless honesty that Miss March carried.
Rewatching the film today, it feels less like a gross-out comedy and more like a strange time capsule. Its humor may not land for everyone, but its spirit — raw, defiant, and awkwardly human — is unmistakable. Eugene’s long sleep, Tucker’s delusions, Cindi’s transformation — they all mirror the dream that every artist chases and the rude awakening that often follows.
In that sense, Miss March was never just about getting the girl or making people laugh. It was about two comedians trying to find meaning in the noise, stumbling through a system that doesn’t always reward sincerity. And somehow, in that messy, misunderstood journey, the film found its odd kind of truth — the kind that only looks like nonsense until you wake up.