A film review by Craig J. Koban
2006, PG-13, 88 mins
John Triton / Robert Patrick:
Rome / Kelly Carlson:
Kate Triton / Abagail Bianca:
Angela Directed by John Bonito / Written by: Michelle Gallagher and
Alan E. McEllroy
2006, PG-13, 88 mins
John Cena: John Triton / Robert Patrick: Rome / Kelly Carlson: Kate Triton / Abagail Bianca: Angela
Directed by John Bonito / Written by: Michelle Gallagher and Alan E. McEllroy
There are days where I just wish I could do away with any modest level of formality and professionalism that I try to exhibit with my film reviews. Sometimes I just wish that I could relate my feelings about a particular film in another manner…or identity…. to make my job a bit easier and more enjoyable. Perhaps I sometimes feel the need to live vicariously through other people, but…by God…I wish that I could just cut through all of the B.S. and talk some serious straight talk to you readers. I dunno…kind of like take-no-prisoners, non-nonsense, tough as nails…
I have a radical idea. Let's play a game. You - the readers - and I will engage in a bit of role playing. I will be the drill sergeant and you can all be my privates.
Commence using your imaginations....now!
"Atten-hut! Listen up, privates! This is your film review drill sergeant CrAiGeR speaking!
Do I have your intimate attention, ladies? Well, good, ‘cause I am going to relay to you all a miserable experience I had at a recent screening of an action film that should have had “tenacity, duty, honor, and courage" written all over it. Instead, it lack a serious amount there of. This movie was called THE MARINE. Let me be the first to tell all of you fruit loops that this film was intellectually AWOL. It was seriously FUBAR'ed.
All right, my little cheesedicks, before you go running home squirting to your mommies with that pacifier in your mouth you call a thumb, hear me out. Telling you all about this movie could save your little cherry asses.
This miserable excuse for celluloid opened without a critic screening. What in God’s green earth does that mean, my bag of dicks? Well, it means that it is – like you – most likely the sorriest piece of vermin that takes up vital space and oxygen. Now, I expect good things from all of you ladies out there in the trenches. However, let me be the first to tell some of you grade A screw-ups out there that – if you go into this film alone – some of you will not make it out alive. If you enter into it, you will definitely need to break out your cammies and prepare to shoot to kill. Hoah!
You may be familiar with its star, John “I look like I just opened up a large can of whoop ass” Cena. This man is a gigantic, hulking, physical specimen that looks like he has chunks of mortal men like you in his stool. This guy could take on all of you pansies at once and make you wish you were never born! He is is a walking machine of pain and his biceps and neck seem to be the result of pumping far too much steroids into his body. Basically, Cena is a mountain of sweat and gnarly conviction, which you may have noticed while watching any of his matches as a WWE performer. Jesus H. Christ, but having a WWE actor headlining a major action film is not the type of frickin’ endorsement I wanna see in a film. Yes, my ragtag group of useless bum chums, Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson has also been in both the movies and in the squared circle, but he is bloody Sir Lawrence frickin' Oliver compared to Mr. Cena. I have farts with more raw energy and charisma than this guy.
So, maggots, what is this movie about? Well, this would-be hard core action flick has Cena as a marine – John Triton - that is discharged from the Marine core for – get a load of this crap – rescuing American troops while in captivity from Al Qaeda. What in the h-e-double hockey sticks is wrong with that, you ask? You sure as hell got me!? Last time I checked, when some of my fellow grunts are getting abused and tortured by the enemy, we should have the right to go in, take names, kick collective ass, and get our friendlies out of there. Yet, in the warped, logicless stew that this film swims in, when a one-man killing machine successfully saves the lives of our men, it is a punishable offence worthy of discharge. My Lord, why not just bitch slap poor old Uncle Sam while you’re at it, for Cripe’s Sake.
So, Triton goes back home with his tail limping between his legs and meets back up with his wife, who is – without a doubt – one buxom lass. His squeeze – played by Kelly Carlson – gives a performance where her wonder bra does most of the acting. Her and Triton hook back up, do the horizontal mumbo, and he then proceeds to go to job as a security officer back in civilian life. Well, laddie-frickin-da, but he lasts but one day there, privates. He gets kicked out for throwing a worthless piece of worm-ridden yuppie trash through a window. I dunno, this kick ass marine gets no respect. First, the core boots him out for his courageous actions, and then his civilian job boots him for taking a little potty mouth weasel to the cleaners.
At this point, privates, the film started to seriously offend my intellectual faculties in a highly diminutive manner. We are quickly introduced to a slimy and vile jewel thief played by Robert Patrick. He leads a group of thieves that just may go down as the dumbest bunch of criminals in the history of criminals. Dumbasses to their very foundations, like you bunch of queens. Let there robbery early in the film be a lessen to all of you: If you’re going to rob a jewellery store, be abso-bloody-sure that you provide excellent camouflage to conceal your identities. They walk in, without masks, shoot up all of the friendlies in the store, and rob the place. They also manage to blow up a police car in broad daylight. If these guys were not the most useless crooks in the world, then the police officers that hunt them down are equally stupid. How the crooks escape easy capture and how the cops are not able to take them down is beyond my comprehension. One cop tells the other, “These goons were sloppy!” Gee, thanks so much, Sherlock freakin' Holmes.
As you may or may not have predicted, privates, this nasty jewel thief and his crew cross paths with Cena and his wife. The happy couple, it seems, has decided to take a nice little get-away into the country. When they stop for gas it is – unfortunately – at the same station as Patrick and his goons. Again, how Patrick and his cronies escape detection is beyond me. Nevertheless, Patrick and company end up blowing up the place and kidnapping Cena’s main squeeze. That is the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. This marine is one vengeful sonofabitch, and his is – come hell or high water – gonna kick some major tail in manners only the marine core would allow him. Hoah!
Okay, now you may be asking me, what the hell is wrong with this movie? Quite simply put, it is a 30-minute B-grade chase film stretched out to 89 minutes. The movie perspires mediocrity. The acting is as sloppy as a greasy sandwich; the dialogue is a cringe inducing as a one week old latrine, and the film’s action and violence lacks gratuitous energy and pathos. For crying out loud, this is a PG-13 movie that wants to please little teenage idiots more than be a hard-edged, bloody, and balls-to-the-wall action film that we have not seen since the mid-1980’s. Instead, we are teased with loving setups of glorious kill shots, but the film cuts away from all of its wonderful carnage to ensure the crybaby PG-13 rating that wears crap diapers, like all of you little Streisands. This film has about as much balls as Richard Simmons, running with scissors, on a binge eating, bad hair day.
So, privates, the action is as flat as your collective feet, the main star lacks any serviceable range, and the dialogue stinks to high heaven. There are also witless rejects in the supporting character arena, including one whimpering black man that won’t shut his bloody pie hole for two damn minutes. Everything that comes out of that crater he calls a mouth made my ears bleed. At one point he relays a story of why he hates rock candy and also why he has tortured memories of being a boy scout. Now, what in tarnation is funny about child rape? You sure as hell got me? When Cena took this creep out, I nearly fell out of my chair with applause.
One thing is for sure – this film blows up garbage really good. The explosions are sights to see. Brought back eerie memories of myself being in the jungle hunting for Charlie. On the whole, THE MARINE is lame, loud, crude, and one note; and unrepentant film that does not even deserve the moniker of being B-grade. Like you degenerates, it's a glorious celebration of breathtaking stupidity. I thought you maggots were about as rock bottom as you could get, but watching THE MARINE has reinstalled my faith in you all. The only thing that could have made the film more bearable would have been some gratuitous nudity, decent kills, and a genuine disregard for civility. THE MARINE possesses none of those qualities. Man, I remember watching the movie COMMANDO that starred our recent Californian Governor and that film never turned an eye away from reckless mayhem and wanton violence. That film was a raging tiger of fiery, blood-spattering excess. THE MARINE is a whimpering little pussycat that has been neutered.
In closing, privates, THE MARINE blows. And Cena definitely needs to reconsider going back to his day job as a professional wrestler. His got the brawn, but not the brains. He needs to back up his remarkably chiseled visage with something more worthwhile and substantial. All in all, he's like a Mark Wahlberg on lethal dosages of gamma rays that can't act out of a paper bag. If any of you grunts can make it through the film, combat will be a pussyfoot walk in the park. If you lamebrains have the guts to stomach this film in all of its witless, infantile, patronizing, and inane glory, then you never have to prove your courage to me in any other manner.
Gee, it’s fun to play make-believe, isn't it?