The last action movie of the summer. Like the dregs of a bottle of
rotgut, it's cheap, not good for you, and could have been a lot better. Yet
there's a tinge of nostalgia in its tawdry pleasures, an end to the season
of joyous slumming and swigging from the bottle. Time to sit up straight
again and dutifully swirl the good stuff around in your glass before
delicate sips.
Columbia Pictures long since spent its box office capital on 8MM,
so its final taste of summer action is Blue Streak, a buddy movie
starring a comedian clawing his way up the movie-star ladder, B-movie by
B-movie. Martin Lawrence isn't going to be mistaken for Eddie Murphy or
Will Smith anytime in the next three years. And he's paired with Luke
Wilson, best known for hits on the indie-quirky axis like Bottle
Rocket, Rushmore, and Home Fries. Without stars, Columbia
has had to promote the film by affixing the trailer to every single summer
release and buying up half the ad banner space on the Web. The movie even
has an achingly cheesy attempt at a catchphrase: "Believe that!" A
catchphrase! What is this, the mid-'80s?
The surprise is that the whole concoction's not that bad. Maybe it's
just nostalgia for car chases past, but it's almost sweet to see Blue
Streak trot out the swerving cop cruisers and slow-motion Evel-Knievel
stunts. Even more charming, director Les Mayfield cuts away in the middle
of a shot of an airborne car to show its occupants screaming--clearly safe
on the ground, since a bridge railing is visible through their windows.
Then back to the flying car, then to the occupants pretending to bounce
painfully as their car lands. In the final scene, Wilson reveals knowledge
that we never saw him acquire, pointing unmistakably to key plot points
left on the cutting-room floor.
It's almost conceivable that Mayfield and his crew have decided to
dispense with continuity and story arcs since they realize the
ridiculousness of it all. The resulting freedom, whether born of ignorance,
irony, or simple neglect, lends a certain heady air of abandon to the
proceedings. Lawrence can't be accused of uplifting the race with his
bug-eyed, step-and-fetch-it shenanigans, but at least he never lets up. And
Wilson, as a white-bread, straight-arrow detective just off traffic detail,
gives his role an earnest dignity that plays far funnier than the usual
dumb-cop antics. Mayfield, the director of the pre-show reel for Back to
the Future: The Ride, knows how to move people in and out of the
theater without giving them time to think.
If Blue Streak makes no lasting impression, at least it hasn't
done any damage to your liver. In a welcome break from recent tradition,
there isn't even any bathroom or bedroom humor (if you don't count the
semi-joke of having Lawrence search for his misplaced diamond in the
ladies' room). The movie can do no damage to Lawrence's reputation, and it
might enhance Wilson's. And compared to the corrosive acid waiting to be
poured into your brain in other theaters, it's practically a Shirley
Temple--well, maybe Boone's Farm.