cue ball-headed britisher fails to pot

Rating: Null/10 (31 December 2003)

There is a particular sub-type of film character perfect for those with thinning hair and vocal chords like truck engines, and we have seen a lot of his type lately. I speak of the shaven-headed hard man. Yul Brynner was an early example, stomping around Westworld looking hairless and deadly. Bruce Willis made the type famous, Vin Diesel is busy attempting to do the same again. But from the late nineteen-nineties there was another waiting in the wings, with a can of shaving foam in one hand and a can of whup-ass in the other. Jason Stratham.
Those in the know have watched his progress in reverent silence, as stargazers might a passing meteor- here was one who, quite apart from romancing Kelly Brook, had a glittering Hollywood future ahead of him.

Sadly, this film represents (at the very least) a worrying misstep. This ex-diver is out of the water and struggling.
Let us begin as the film does, with a chase. There is no impression of speed, only a little fluff for the cinematographer's showreel and some rather limp comedy. Jason Stratham attempts cool (he's done it before, successfully) but ends up resembling Christopher Reeve post-accident, or a person playing 'dead lions'. Soon there are other action scenes, and a romantic subplot that I cannot muster the energy to describe, and a fight in oil- entertaining in its avowed non-naturalism, and a refreshing change from staring contests and pointless explosions. I felt a deep and crippling sense of ennui, and left with no memories of the film apart from fond ones of the hero's gloss-black executive car.
Avoid this film! Not an abominable ninety minutes, admittedly, but such a waste. You could have made a model aeroplane in the time it took to watch this; you could have written a letter to an old friend. Do either of those two things instead of watch this film. Do something else, if you like. I can't pretend to know about your interests.