Even if you enjoyed the 'go, go-go girls, go!' humour (and I didn't)
of 'Charlie's Angels', the postmodern movie version of the popular 1970s
TV series, I'm willing to bet that you barely remember a single detail
of its plot. Its sequel, 'Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle', again directed
by the oddly named McG, is just as forgettable once you've exited the
cinema, inducing a similar sense of emptiness within the viewer, or even
mild self-loathing - yet as long as those reels are still rolling, you
may be surprised to find yourself grinning like an idiot, fully entertained
by the gravity-defying stunts, the logic-defying plot, the taste-defying
humour, and even the age-defying Demi Moore as a fallen Angel.
My biggest prejudice against this sequel was the absence of Bill Murray
- who can save any bad film, even the first 'Charlie's Angels', from utter
damnation - as Bosley. Yet Bernie Mac as the new Bosley is in fact very
funny, as is the unexplained absurdity of having two Bosley brothers,
one white, one black - and the detail that Bill Murray's Bosley was brought
up in South Central.
As is the way with postmodernism, 'Full Throttle' immunises itself against
all manner of criticism by anticipating and ironising such criticisms
within the film itself. eg. The Angels point out for us that Bosley is
a superfluous character whose only purpose is to provide a connection
between Charlie's instructions and the Angels' actions. Just how stupid
maxed-up sequels can be is made clear when Jason (Matt LeBlanc), the actor-boyfriend
of Angel Alex Munday (Lucy Liu), stars in a clearly stupid, maxed-up sequel
called 'Maximum Extreme 2', at the Hollywood premiere of which the kick-ass
climax of our own sequel, 'Full Throttle', takes place. The set-pieces,
to be sure, are all cliched, but the film is only taking the piss out
of these cliches, carefully signposting its parodies of 'CSI', 'Cape Fear',
'Grease', 'The Blues Brothers', 'Point Break', 'The Matrix' and the entire
James Bond franchise.
Even the film's endless reduction of women to simpering, body-grinding
bikini-clad tits n' ass is counterbalanced (somewhat disingenuously) by
the fact that these girls are empowered, repeatedly using their looks
to distract and outwit the pathetic men on parade in the film (and perhaps
in the audience). Indeed, after Jason has revealed to Alex's father (played
by John Cleese; another ethnic absurdity) the truth of what she does for
a living, all manner of doubles-entendres mislead Mr Munday into believing
that she is a sex worker. Of course the real joke is not so much that
he is completely wrong, as that he is in fact half right, since the Angels
are really both sexual objects and independent women at the same time.
In this self-referential hall of mirrors, to criticise is to run the
risk of not being in on the film's joke. If you object too loudly to the
endless cleavage-wiggling and bum-gags, you risk exposing your own unsophisticated
failure to comprehend the deep vein of irony in this shallow film. In
other words, when it comes to lowbrow laughs and sexist nonsense, 'Charlie's
Angels: Full Throttle' can get away with having its (angel) cake and eating
it too.
I went into 'Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle' expecting it to be inane
crud. And it is. But it is too mad to be bad, and too clever to be quite
as dumb as it keeps insisting it is.
Anton Bitel, 2.7.3
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