‘From Paris with Love' oozes with potential, fails to succeed

Adapted from Besson's story idea (these days he's just providing the story and the financing) and directed by Pierre Morrel (previous cinematographer of the “Transporter” films), “From Paris with Love” oozes with so much potential for thrills but never manages to fulfill its promising premise. Aren't we just tired of watching films that choose the easy way out by way of speed-cutting and continuous explosions and that don't feel the need to adhere to any decent plot line or emotional logic?

The credibility of the film, without a doubt, relies on the performance of John Travolta. He plays the kind of character that simultaneously makes you laugh, admire his coolness and ponder his athletic abilities despite his age. It's like his “Pulp Fiction” days are back again (there's also a small reference to that movie in light of the legendary Burger King conversation). Yet, the problem still exists like a sore thumb: You can't bank on a specific kind of screen character for too long. It dates itself and, honestly, borders on the cheap.

So it all begins in the pretty city of Paris, though in this universe Paris is a place full of angry men who all know kung fu moves. Slick boy James Reece (Irish Jonathan Rhys Meyers who, for the life of me, cannot pull off a convincing American accent) works for the US Embassy. No, he is not a diplomat, but a security official. We don't know if he works for the CIA or the US Army, but surely he's one of those new-generation secret agents that master chess, speak about 10 different languages and of course own a range of designer suits. The problem with James is that he knows he can do better than work as the personal aide of the American ambassador; he just wants to be one of those boys who get to do all the real dangerous James Bond stuff. Well, maybe Nicolai Hel in this case.

In comes special agent Charlie Wax (John Travolta), Reece's new partner, the antitheses of Reece's elegant existence. Wax is foul-mouthed, blunt, dressed like he could be the back vocals for Metallica. The man has no tact. You guessed it, it's love at first sight as we watch these two new partners exchange the usual pleasantries through banter. The chemistry between Travolta and Meyers is quite endearing, really, enough to enjoy their odd coupling. If only we saw more of their hysterical and suggestive dialogue than the ensuing explosion scenes, for Reece is the new American, as refined as the Europeans themselves, and Wax is the embodiment of G.I. Joe.

In reality, Reece is merely designated as the go-to guy for Wax, who has been bequeathed with a mission that is never properly explained to the viewer. All you have to know is that they're in for a lot of fight scenes involving underground dope dealers comprised of the Chinese mafia and the gangs of the Paris outer rim. Plus, there is this flimsy excuse of a plot connection that leads them to Islamist terrorists who are planning to bomb an international conference in the city.

We go along the ride as Travolta kicks butt here and there and Reece eventually finds out that there's a bit of a tough guy in him as well. The main problem here is that if you're watching this on DVD, you'll notice that the fight scenes don't really make any kinetic sense. Speed-cutting does not give us a sense of the fight choreography and only leaves us bombarded with a plethora of images where kicks, fists and bullets are thrown about. It is just not fun anymore. What happened to those movies where we used to devour a car chase in one long shot, get thrilled by the flowing movements of martial arts and where CGI effects were never in question? That was real moviemaking, and I'm quite sure that the young men of this film's target audience have a far better sense of cinematic intelligence than they are assumed to have. Sometimes it is unbelievable how audiences can be taken for granted. Don't even get me started on 3D.

What's even more disturbing about this film is that beyond the technical questions it raises, the superficial sub-plot involving a French girl transforming into a suicide bomber for the love of a fundamentalist terrorist and his “cause” becomes unconvincing when we are not even offered a suggestion of how or why she became that way. When did such an occurrence become such a leitmotif?