Some movies gently shake your hand and talk to you about themselves in a calm and articulate manner. They are not showy. They do not seek to razzle-dazzle you. Quiet, articulate and warm, these movies are the most gentle of companions. After visiting with them, you come away feeling enlightened and enriched.
Then there are movies like “Bad Boys for Life.” They don’t gently shake your hand. They high-five you, come in fast for a half-hug, half-body check and slap you on the back so hard you’d swear they just drew blood. Then, for the next 90-120 minutes, these movies proceed to jump up and down and holler at you. They shout and scream and do cartwheels. After dozens of backflips and somersaults, they may even smash a bottle or two over their head.
The third in the series of “Bad Boy” detective films, BBFL is the kind of movie where two guys race through the streets of Miami – endangering the lives of dozens of people – all so they can make it to the hospital in time to witness the birth of a grandchild.
In other words, logic is a boring academic all dressed in tweed and corduroy who stands in the corner at a fucked-up party tut-tutting the others while they drink, smoke and snort their way into oblivion. “No, Mr. Patterson, nobody cares what Socrates said about the unexamined life. So, kindly take your poetry books and well thought out opinions on the films of Jean-Luc Godard and get the fuck outta here!” Poor Mr. Patterson.
Miami cool detectives Mike (Will Smith) and Marcus (Martin Lawrence) are back, but things have changed. With the birth of his first grandchild, Marcus announces that he’s had enough of all this Bad Boy shit and is retiring. Mike reacts with all the understanding of a Catholic priest at a gay pride parade. Bad Boys are supposed to be for life! Didn’t you read the Bad Boys fine print?!? Marcus doesn’t budge, though – he’s done.
Saying BBFL is flashy is like saying hurricanes are windy. In BBFL, you do not film a Bad Boy exiting a vehicle like they are, you know, exiting a vehicle. You film that Bad Boy stepping out of a vehicle like that perfectly polished Porsche just gave birth to him.
The plot is powered by a turbo-charged engine of vengeance. Both sides of the Good Guy-Bad Guy border burn hot as hell. It’s sun-scorched, bullet piercing, blood splattered, endlessly exploding smash and boom opera for the fast and furious set. It’s exciting, yet superficial filmmaking, in that it never lets up. On a purely adrenaline level – it delivers the goods. Blizzards of bullets and endless explosions rip apart flesh and send cars, motorcycles and helicopters shooting into the air or wildly spinning out of control. Then, in a literally fiery finale – challenging hell for most flames per square inch – the chaos of bullets and blood and boom reaches even more epic levels.
A film series that has always been cliche heavy, BBFL is so weighed down with the fat of stale ideas that no scale known to man could survive it’s stepping on. Tally them up – cop retiring but not really – check; the police captain who is constantly furious at his out of control subordinates – check; characters with ordinary jobs somehow able to afford ridiculously expensive real estate – check; laughing at cops who follow protocol – check; men mocked for being sensitive – check; therapy for men mocked as a concept – check; young, cocksure newbies getting in the face of grizzled veterans eager to prove they still got it – check.
At its heart, BBFL is a celebration of machismo, of might, of killing. Here, men are only men when they have a weapon in their hands and a flesh and blood target on their mind. Mike endlessly mocks Marcus for retiring, driving a Nissan and indulging his sensitive side. Granted, this is an action movie and guys learning to meditate and slow down at yellow lights are about as useful as a bowling ball in a swimming pool. Yet, the boneheaded and constant pound, pound, pound of the macho mantra does get tired pretty fast. I’m sure actual detectives laugh their asses off at movies like BBFL while also admiring the, admittedly, pretty scenery.
The movie even dives head first into the pool of spooky foreign characters with their spooky foreign culture. Kate del Castillo plays the evil Isabel Aretas, widowed wife of a drug cartel kingpin – who Mike helped put behind bars – and mother of the revenge-on-his-mind, budding, young drug cartel kingpin Armando Aretas (Jacob Scipio). Isabel is a witch – literally – who spends an unhealthy amount of her time on a rooftop somewhere in Mexico whispering wicked words in Spanish while dreaming of rubbing out all the people responsible for putting her husband behind bars. Scooby-doo has less ridiculous villains.
A live action cartoon, BBFL is ridiculous fun – though don’t think about it too much. Actually, don’t think about it at all. If you do, some, if not all of that fun will go bad as you remember the real life ugliness hiding just underneath its slickly photographed, sun-soaked surface.
It’s a theme park ride, after all. Nobody has ever hopped off of a roller coaster ride and immediately launched into an intellectual examination of why it swerved right here or sent them upside down there. It’s designed for thrills and thrills only. Likewise, asking BBFL why this guy got shot to shreds here and why that guy fell off a roof of a tall building there will only get you laughed at – justifiably so!
It’s a ride. Just be thankful it didn’t make you throw up.
