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3/10
Past-it Action Hero
28 June 2007
Warning: Spoilers
All good things... Except in Hollywood, of course, they frequently don't come to an end, do they? With the cameras now rolling on the fourth addition to the Indiana Jones chronicles (which, begrudgingly, even this reviewer must acknowledge as being a fairly exciting prospect), the time seems wearily appropriate for catching up with John McLane (and, this time around, his grown-up daughter) and booing and hissing at the latest evil villain, with whom he must match wits.

Willis's charming grin is, of course, still firmly in place as, to be fair, is the franchise's emphasis on mostly exciting action set-pieces. What, unfortunately, seems now to be entirely absent is any sense of coherent narrative structure or the lip-smackingly evil but villainously intelligent characterizations of an Alan Rickman in the original Die Hard (1988) or Jeremy Irons in ...with a vengeance (1995). In their place, a perfunctory Dr Evil-esquire plan that inevitably involves McLane and which, with weary predictability, puts his daughter Lucy (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) in mortal peril. Oh, and McLane isn't really getting on with his offspring at the film's outset...

In a nutshell, McLane is asked to escort hyper-hacker Matt Farell (Justin Long) into FBI custody - Farell is among a number of computer geniuses that have got the feds twitchy since their HQ computers were (temporarily) hacked. When Farell's apartment is converted into Swiss Cheese by certain terrorist types just after McLane comes a-knocking, everyone's favourite NYPD detective smells one of his famous rats, and the pair come into the orbit of Thomas Gabriel (a very overplayed, would-be psychotic Timothy Olyphant), a very bitter former NSA computer expert, who's out to teach Uncle Sam a thing or two by systematically shutting America down, via the internet. A so-called Fire Sale - everything must go...

All well and good - these days, it doesn't sound any more unlikely a plan than, say, flying jet airliners into tall buildings or blowing yourself up on the Metro. Unfortunately, whether due to budget restrictions or simple laziness on the parts of director Len Wiseman and writer Mark Bomback, we never really get to see what the awe-inspiring and terrifying consequences of such action might be, short of a few nasty traffic pile-ups and lots of lights going out. To wit, McLane isn't really put through much hell before, inevitably, he starts getting well-'ard with the terrorists.

Much praise has been heaped on the stunts which are, in keeping with the 'Timex hero in a digital age' theme, nearly all genuine rather than CGI- based but, whether they're blue-screened or for real, things exploding are still just loud bangs if there's little or no suspense. Let's face it, charming though Willis still is (and this installment's buddy-buddy factor works pretty well, thanks to an intelligent, twitchy turn from Long), there is never any doubt that it's going to be McLane victorious and, once again, entirely at ease with having just killed some 15-20 terrorists.

Credibility was there in spades in Die Hard, despite its 'high concept' narrative - by part four, rhyme and reason seem to have been finally sacrificed for box-office certainties. A shame.
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Death Proof (2007)
1/10
Sh!t and run...
4 June 2007
It really must have seemed like a great idea at the time. Quentin Tarantino teamed up with Sin City director Robert Rodriguez for a 70s sleaze-fest double bill, Grindhouse, which combines Rodriguez's zombie-schlock-splatter extravaganza Planet Terror with Tarantino's offering, Death Proof, plus several fake 70s-style trailers.

Guess what? In what must be a first for QT, the double-bill bombed, was panned at Cannes, and so is now being split into the two films for worldwide release, of which Death Proof is the first to be released in Belgium.

Alongside the adulation, Tarantino has long had his naysayers - despite the obvious brilliance of Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, and Kill Bill (I+II), detractors have pointed to the waste of time and money that was Jackie Brown and labelled him as a director obsessed with style over substance, so-called sassy dialogue over coherent narrative - a movie brat masquerading as Hitchcock (and his cameos don't help, either).

This reviewer would previously have pooh-poohed such as heresy, but no more. Just so there are no surprises in store, let it be known that Death Proof is, without a doubt, the worst, most self-indulgent piece of cinematic codswallop in some time - 'great' director or not.

Complete with all the 70s trimmings ('Our Feature Presentation' jingle at the start (charming in Kill Bill because of what followed), grainy colour under- and over-exposure, 'unintentional' jump-cuts, dialogue that's repeated, get the drift?) we have here a story of auto-slasher killer Stuntman Mike (Kurt Russell), a man who gets off on the high-impact pile-up.

During a near-interminable 110 minutes, he victimises two groups of four juicy babes (Rosario Dawson, Vanessa Ferlito, Jordan Ladd, Sydney Poitier (who has, to be fair, got absolutely glorious legs), Rose McGowan, Tracie Thoms, Mary Elizabeth Winstead, Zoë Bell) with his 'death proof' 70s Dodge Charger.

'Stuntman''s car comes from a time before CGI effects in the movies, hence it's designed to allow stuntmen to survive any auto-accident, no matter how outrageous. He's got a little extra juice under the bonnet, too - handy for when you want to pile-drive your unsuspecting victims' car at 200mph.

Sounds like a riot, doesn't it? Well, at a pinch, with the genuinely exciting mega car-chase that brings a blessed end to proceedings, it might have been, had it only filled a half-hour 'Quentin Tarantino Presents' episode. Unfortunately, old QT (who also wrote and makes his inauspicious cinematography-director debut here) obviously reckons that 70s visuals overload and non-stop, teeth-grindingly irritating 'sassy girl talk' will hold the attention indefinitely.

They don't. They so don't. On, and on, and on it goes - imagine the opening diner scene in...Dogs or the Jack Rabbit Slims Thurman/Travolta chat in Pulp Fiction extended to 90-odd minutes, and you might get the picture. As a result, not only are you brutally bored by the girls' blabbering blah-blah, any sympathy/support for them in their plight hits the road hard and fast.

Worse, though, is the waste of Russell, a great actor from the 70s/early 80s films that inspired Tarantino and Rodriguez (Elvis (1979), Escape From New York (1981), The Thing (1982)), in this doggerel. He's not frightening. He's barely sinister. Dark charm is about as good as his character achieves - and Russell has always had that in spades, anyway.

So there you have it. Will the real Quentin Tarantino step forward, please?
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