The bad guys are pretty cool, and are sort of like the “bosses” back on the old 8-bit Nintendo, who get their own theme music and only appear after you’ve killed everyone else on the level. First there’s a nameless thug the credits identify as Wall Street (Matt Schulze of “The Fast and the Furious” and both “Blade” flicks). He looks like Stephen Dorff’s little brother, always has a glower even in his mug shot, and behaves as if the only thing keeping anger from exploding out of his down-turned forehead is his daily dose of pot. Lots and lots of pot. He also has really big arms and stands kind of like a monkey. Next there’s Qui’s father, who has a great scene in which he claims his daughter will “come around” and see the error of her ways, except that we hear a gunshot in the distance which means she’s in all likelihood dead. He rolls his eyes a little and says “well, I guess she won’t be coming around after all.” He’s played by Ric Young, who was Mr. Big in “Kiss of the Dragon,” Confucius in “The Lost Empire,” Bruce Lee’s father in “Dragon,” a red interrogator in “The Last Emperor,” a heavy in “Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom,” and that bad, bad man Mao Tse-Tung in Oliver Stone’s “Nixon.” At his service in “The Transporter” are tough men with weird haircuts credited as “Leader,” “Boss,” “Thug 2,” “Little Thug,” “Giant Thug,” “Wheel Man,” and “Tough.”
With a few exceptions, the non-fighting scenes in “The Transporter” are utter poo. Statham and Qui have the chemistry of two sock puppets. The movie’s dialogue, from international action legend Luc Besson (“The Professional”) and Robert Mark Kamen, could probably fill both sides of a cocktail napkin, then cut in half without any loss of coherence. Statham’s inspector friend (Francois Berleand) fares better; he’s unshaven and walks in a cloud of world-weary cigarette smoke, and trusts Our Guy way more than any real cop would. I can easily imagine Jean Reno playing the role even better, more world-weary, more unshaven, and in a sleepy-eyed stupor that reduces most of his dialogue to grunts and nods.
Not so long ago “The Big Hit” spun a similarly ridiculous adventure yarn in which a crook with a heart of gold takes on a gang to save an Asian beauty (both movies even have scenes in which she and he bond over her need to use the bathroom while being a hostage). While not by any stretch of the imagination a deeply good movie, “The Big Hit” was more confident of its own wackiness and flew through its talking scenes without “The Transporter’s” rather meager attempts to seem serious. I’m not sure if director Corey Yuen is aware of how goofy this entire enterprise is, but he has a sharp eye for scene after scene of steadily escalating absurdity, and his fist fights have the intricate choreography of ballet.
As the stick figure of the title, Jason Statham (“Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels”) doesn’t quite have the laconic charm of “The Hire’s” Clive Owen, but he’s about ten times as ripped and makes pummeling twenty guys in so many seconds look…well, not plausible, but at least not quite so much the work of wires and digital tomfoolery. The French locations are as sunny and orange as they were blue and autumnal in “Ronin,” and techno-rap music permeates pretty much every second of the film, except in the heartbeats right before missiles begin to tear Our Guy’s house to pieces.
“The Transporter” is like one of those so-bad-it’s-good kung-fu movies of the 1970s, without the dubbing, or maybe more like a Jackie Chan movie that isn’t always trying to be so cute. There are a lot of people who won’t find anything funny about “The Transporter,” but there are plenty who will, and you know who you are.
Finished October 17th, 2002
Copyright © 2002 Friday & Saturday Night