Except not, because Entourage exists outside the reaches of time, space, and logic, and if you told me it never actually ended and I've actually been mumbling "Oh yay-yuh! Oh yay-yuh!" along with the Jane's Addiction theme song for the past three years, I might believe you.

This is the first line, spoken by Johnny "Drama" Chase (Kevin Dillon), in the motion picture Entourage. The film is a continuation of the television show of the same name, which ran for eight more or less culturally uncontested seasons on HBO. It's been over three years since Vince and the boys rode their twin private jets into the sunset, and almost five since series creator Doug Ellin initially floated the idea of a movie. In the interim, a lot has changed: TV has become fertile ground for stories about complex female characters, everyone got really into a show about dragons, and Broad City exists. The world and moment that Entourage encapsulated seems woefully outdated.

Before we go any further, I must admit a bias — not that I'm an Entourage superfan; I was never a terribly faithful viewer of the show, and I definitely have not seen every episode, especially in the later, increasingly rote seasons. But I have spent the last 48-plus hours locked in an entirely voluntary marathon of the first two seasons, and they have pervaded my headspace to such a degree that I felt almost personally affronted when the entire theater at the press screening I attended did not burst out in riotous applause at the first aerial shot of the boys cruising in a motorboat off the coast of Ibiza. After the past several days stewing in the bro-verse, this felt like a towering cinematic moment on the order of the Star Wars title zooming back into the stars to John Williams fanfare. Like I said, I came in with a bias. Everything will work out fine To submit yourself to the world of Entourage is to surrender any expectation of so much of what we associate with satisfying television: tension, stakes, darkness. The first two seasons feel like a hallucination: we are presented with this entitled, variously simpleminded group of men, the leader of which lives by the shockingly durable philosophy that "everything will work out fine." We are trained, by centuries of storytelling tradition, to take that as an omen. Oh, that's what someone says right before he walks into a manhole, we think. Part of Entourage's crazy-making charm is that the manhole never materializes. Sure, there are hitches and bumps along the way — fudged deals, a cocaine addiction — but Vincent Chase never gets a lasting comeuppance for all his boorish ways. And that's what makes 10 episodes — and yes, a feature-length film — melt by in what seems like a half-hour, give or take. I never checked my clock during the entirety of the Entourage movie — I thought about it, but then preferred to marvel at the fact that I could not tell if 20 minutes or two hours had gone by. From a formally critical standpoint, I think that might be a good thing.

The plot of Entourage concerns what so many plots of Entourage have concerned: the making of a film. We catch up with the dudes mere weeks after the events of the finale; Vince's marriage to a hot Vanity Fair writer lasted all of five days, and he's back on the market, hosting a yacht party full of the requisite topless babes. He also has decided that he wants to direct a film, and because he is Vincent Chase, he will indeed direct a film. Entourage, god bless it, has always been incredibly smart about what it chooses to yadda-yadda. We immediately flash forward eight months — Vince's directorial debut Hyde is in the can, and is being shepherded by superagent-turned-studio head Ari Gold (Jeremy Piven; what, you didn't really think Ari was out of the game, did you?). His former driver Sal "Turtle" Assante (Jerry Ferrara) is now a multimillionaire with a successful tequila business, and his manager / best dude Eric "E" Murphy (Kevin Connolly) is expecting the birth of his son with OTP babymama Sloane any day. I have to say, you don't miss those eight months. Entourage has never been about the joys and struggles of making the films that its characters rely on for cash flow. It's always been about the joys and sorrows — okay, mostly joys ­— of the cash flow. Entourage has always been smart about what it chooses to yadda-yadda I now realize I need to back up for a second and talk about Hyde. Oh lordy, Hyde. We see what amounts to a trailer-length montage of Vince's passion project, and goddammit, I wish that the movie had just cut out and the ushers had escorted us to the theatre next door to watch the whole thing. Hyde, as it may surprise some LA lifers to know, is not a filmic adaptation of the notorious celeb hangout that enjoyed its heyday about the same time Entourage enjoyed its. Hyde takes place in a dystopic future Los Angeles, where Vince plays some kind of underworld DJ who feeds people floating golden molly-pellets while they rave under a bridge. (Wait ... maybe it is an adaptation?) Vince wears a hoodie and broods a lot. It's basically the music video for Britney Spears' Til The World Ends, except we are told its running time is two hours.