The summer of terrible reboots (Fantastic Four, Hitman: Agent 47) continues
with The Transporter Refueled,
a franchise that was launched with one purpose in mind; to give Jason Statham a
chance to look cool and kick ass. So what good is that franchise without
Statham literally driving it? Not a lot, actually, as series creator Luc Besson
has found all new ways to dumb down the already-silly action vehicle for
debuting star, Ed Skrein.
One of the great hallmarks of The Transporter movies, and by extension every
Besson film for the last twenty years, is casting really hot French actresses
who couldn't act their way out of a wet shopping bag. This film is absolutely
lousy with terrible supporting performances, but at least that doesn't extend
to Skrein. He's actually pretty good as Frank Martin, the calm, cool
transporter we all know and love. It's a different kind of performance than the
Statham's; that much is unavoidable. He's less rough, less gruff, and certainly
more refined. It doesn't make him any cooler, mind you, but Skrein's not the
reason the movie fails to work.
The timeframe is a little odd, as the film
begins in 1995 with a bunch of Euro-goons taking over a prostitution ring, only
to skip ahead 15 years to 2010. Why? Who knows, but that's when the action is
set. Frank is still a high-class wheelman with a personal code of ethics and
rules that shouldn't be broken. No names, no questions. This one takes its cues
from two rather strange places: Alexandre Dumas' The Three
Musketeers (!!!) and Indiana Jones
and the last Crusade. Frank gets himself mixed up in a nonsensical
blackmail scheme involving Anna (Loan Chabanol), one of a quartet of
supermodel-gorgeous prostitutes, who have it out for their former boss. Part of
their plot involves kidnapping Frank's father (Ray Stevenson), an ex-secret
agent with an eye for the ladies. Frank and Frank Sr.'s witty back and
forth is a highlight, as dear ol' Dad is considerably less serious than his
grim-faced son. 
Sounds simple enough, but the screenplay,
co-written by Besson with all of his usual tropes (Americans are all "John
Wayne types" in his world), complicates things with twists that come
literally out of nowhere and add nothing. But the oddest development is the
constant quoting of Dumas' The
Three Musketeers, with the ladies envisioning themselves as modern day
versions of the heroes. They even carry around a copy of the book with them at
all times. But every time they recite a quote with such wooden delivery it must
have Dumas rolling over in his grave. The villains, such as they are, couldn't
be less interesting, and there's a desperate attempt to build a connection to
Frank's military past that goes nowhere. 
While the previous 'Transporter' films
were all outrageously stupid (remember Statham fighting in an oil slick?),
'Refueled' takes it to new heights. This is a film where one of the women is
critically wounded but she's patched up in moments by a handful of cobwebs. The
miracles of cinematic medicine! Frank and his awesome Audi ensemble blister
through the city streets in boring car chases captured by director Camille
Delamarre (he directed the equally tiresome remake Brick Mansions),
but he proves equally inadequate with the fight scenes. Using some oddly-placed
CG effects and strange editing, Frank's battles in empty warehouses and parking
garages have never been less thrilling. Occasionally Delamarre taps into the
goofy over-the-top nature of the prior films, like when Frank launches himself
out of a moving jet ski into an SUV moving just as fast. Or when Frank races
through an airport terminal, somehow managing to not kill everyone in sight.
This stuff is absurd and will have audiences howling, but the question needs to
be asked why we accept things far crazier when the Fast &
Furious movies do it. The
answer is pretty simple: those movies are enjoyable so we can forgive anything. The Transporter Refueled, with
its empty characters and bland direction, is not. Hopefully this franchise has
finally run out of gas.
Rating: 2 out of 5
