Bad Girls?
by Nathaniel
of The Film Experience

Just when you thought Hulk was going to be the year's most misunderstood punching bag, along comes the babe-a-licious trio in Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle to rescue the big green guy from that dubious fate. People really hate it. And the question is, why? Aren't the films it so gleefully mocks more worthy of our contempt? Common criticisms lobbed at the Angels seem to revolve around the incoherent storyline, ludicrous action sequences, and exploitation of the charisma (OK, bodies) of the stars. I personally don't know how that criticism doesn't stick to the great majority of mega-budget action blockbusters. So why is Angels under attack? Perhaps they are paying the price for not playing it straight up. Maybe we need our action with a stone face? Any winking must only be funneled through one-liners and catchphrases rather than the construction of the genre which houses them. Maybe we need our action films relatively unexposed? I'm just asking. For it seems the primary element setting Full Throttle apart from the action pack is that the director McG and his angels seem self-aware in regards to what they're up to. I believe the film is intentionally ludicrous, incoherent, and exploitative. And if it's not, well, I'll give you this: they're all much dumber than even their worse critics have imagined.

Full Throttle telegraphs its parodic intent early on when Matt LeBlanc reappears as Alex's (Lucy Liu) action star boyfriend. He's about to release his new summer spectacular Maximum Extreme Exposure 2, or somesuch. The parallels with any loud explosive summer franchise, from M:I 2 to the film you're watching, are too obvious to miss. Full Throttle, like most action blockbusters since the days of James Bond, opens with a convoluted pre-title action sequence. This one happens to be set in Mongolia...but the locale in any given blockbuster's individual setpieces is only meant to signify "exotic cool place." It rarely has meaning beyond the vistas it provides. So, Mongolia? Why not! The latest James Bond film Die Another Day used Iceland. Lara Croft: Tomb Raider used all sorts of places, jungle like, arctic, you name it. So long as Lara's photogenic braid was set off nicely in the foreground.

In this Mongolia sequence, Dylan (Drew Barrymore) is drinking with the hired hands of some unknown baddie. Alex is sneaking around looking for something (only the screenwriters know what) but she finds something important to the plot which I had lost track of right away. Natalie (Cameron Diaz) arrives suddenly in an incongruous mix of Eskimo chic and Playboy Bunny stylings. (The costume design is by Joseph Aulisi, and one can only hope he was well compensated for his troubles.) Natalie's entrance is designed as a distraction but soon, of course, all distractions are cleared to make room for the Angels in full battle/escape mode. These Angels apparently only have three settings: "Giggle" (used primarily to establish rapport with and endear themselves to the audience) "Pose"' (used primarily to titillate audiences and/or distract opponents) and "Kick Ass" which, given the genre (Action Blockbuster) to which Charlie's Angels belongs to and mocks, is the default setting.

Soon the Angels are leaping into the air, fighting numerous evil henchmen, dodging insanely large rockets of some sort, driving trucks, and maneuvering with the greatest of acrobatic ease through bizarrely inescapable life-threatening situations. Taken as a whole, the sequence is a mess of epic proportions. It makes sense only in tiny individual edits - exactly like every other dimwitted action spectacular. For Full Throttle understands that the spectacle is all about the money shot. This type of film does not ask logical questions like "How will the characters escape unharmed?" or even "Why will the characters do this?" No, the action spectacle merely demands that the hero or heroes escape, fight, survive, exist in the most highly visual, explosive, "Look how neat bodies look flying through the air in contorted positions!" type of way.

From Mongolia we move back to California. But again, locale is nothing unless it adds to the spectacle of the big shot. The setpieces pile on top of one another and become more and more fanciful as the film progresses. My favorite is a hilarious motorcross competition with exploding bikes (Why do they explode? Oh, never mind), assassins, aerial acrobatics at 80 mph, glam rock makeup (just because), and mistaken identities.

If the action setpieces, which adhere far more rigidly to the insane mayhem of Looney Tunes cartoons than any laws of physics, aren't enough for good belly laughs, there's the garish megawatt starpower of the trio at the center. None of these performances could be called subtle, but I'll take Cameron Diaz's "Look, I'm doing sexy things awkwardly" physical comedy shtick any day over her more acclaimed but lesser work in serious films. I'll also blow kisses to Drew Barrymore's rocker girl brio as regularly as possible. I laughed out loud when she screamed "I LOVE YOU! I WOULD DIE FOR YOU!" from inside a car while watching her heavy-metal beau lolling about looking cool. Even Lucy Liu, who seemed rather uncomfortable in the first picture, has loosened up enough to have a cheap vulgar laugh in the sequel.

Despite my affection for the central trio, I'm not out to claim that all of this works. "Bosley," as the sequel would have it, is now more of a moniker than a name. So, the switch in actors needs no explanation. Bernie Mac replaces Bill Murray, but he proves just as useless to the proceedings. That may be a running joke on the television series as well, but it's not particularly funny. The major casting coup, Demi Moore as fallen Angel Madison Lee, is more successful, however. It immediately lifts the film to a higher pop-culture plateau than the original. In a way, she is the film itself. She/It functions as running commentary on herself/itself. Madison's narcissism being Demi's own. Her boasts of former greatness being Demi's own supersized stardom now in defensive tatters. Unfortunately her presence is more brilliant in concept than in execution, for she's stupidly absent from a good two-thirds of the picture.

Like its predecessor, Full Throttle loses momentum on a semi-regular basis, overplaying its hand. Silly works better in short snippets as opposed to lengthy sequences. A trim job was in order. Speeding this juggernaut up, despite complaints that it's already overproduced and hyper-edited (again, precisely the point of the entire endeavor), is just what this thing needs. It's called Full Throttle for a reason. Though the movie has taken plenty of critical hits, judged on its own merits it isn't even close to a miss. This would-be blockbuster may stumble, but it rarely lands with a thud.

McG and team are smarter than audiences have deduced, but they weren't wise enough to avoid the most typical sequel-making blunder: trying too hard to recreate a favorite element from the original. Nothing in the current film tops the giddy giggles that greeted Cameron Diaz's Soul Train worshippin' "Baby Got Back" sequence in the original. Yet, even in uninspired self-derivation, it's not a bust. In the lesser MC Hammer dance-a-long "Can't Touch This" that arrives early in this sequel, Diaz at least has the sense to invite her costars to share in her whimsical fun. Despite tripping over itself, Full Throttle maintains a goofily desperate "let me entertain you" charm. This dance sequence ends with the Angels collapsing with giggles onto Natalie's couch. Even when this comedy trips and falls, there's a soft affectionate landing.

©2003 Nathaniel Rogers
CineScene