Posted: 08/14/2002

XXX

(2002)

by D. Patrick Seitz

All pose, no substance, as Vin sins in XXX wreck.

Just like a jug of moonshine, the XXX label ensures the contents to be unhealthful, disorienting, and nauseating when taken in too large a quantity.

I’ll admit it…I want to like Vin Diesel. He was a much-needed shot in the arm for “Pitch Black,” and one of the few redeeming qualities of “The Fast and the Furious”. However, with his appearance in XXX, it would almost seem that he’s looking to hang his shingle on bad scripts, just to see how horrible of a film the Diesel razzmatazz wouldn’t be able to salvage.

Vin, you have your answer.

I’m not suggesting that XXX doesn’t suck amply on its own merits, but I must admit that the profusion of commercials and movie trailers I had to wade through to get to it certainly didn’t do it any favors. Having already seen Eddie Murphy and Owen Wilson survive an explosion-riddled trailer for some upcoming fish-out-of-water/buddy/action-adventure movie, Pierce Brosnan and Ac-Aca-Academy-Award winner (sorry…that took some forcing to get it out) Halle Berry suave their way through an equally explosion-riddled preview for “Die Another Day,” and an extreme-sport montage that doubled as an ad for the energy drink du jour, I had already pretty much seen XXX before it even started.

As XXX begins, we’re treated to the abrupt introduction and suitably abrupt murder of perhaps the most inept secret agent—a man whose evasion tactics make Undercover Brother look like a stealth ninja and Austin Powers look like a shrewd observer of the human psyche in comparison. Back at headquarters, head poobah Augustus Gibbons (Samuel L. Jackson) chalks up another lost agent and has himself a nifty idea: instead of wasting their inept agents on this mission, why not draft the scum of the earth (Tony Hawk et al, apparently) and have them take a stab at it? That way, when their tickets inevitably get punched, at least it won’t have been on Uncle Sam’s dime. Armed with this idea that places frugality above efficiency, Gibbons kidnaps Xander Cage (Vin Diesel) and submits him to a series of increasingly dangerous and far-fetched scenarios. Of course, by the time Gibbons is sufficiently convinced that Cage can hack it, he’s already subjected the audience to a totally superfluous 15 or 20 minutes of footage—and Cage’s toughest challenge of the film, woefully early for how much film is left to endure.

Cage is sent to the Prague, where he’s to cozy up to Yorgi (Marton Csokas) and crush his head like a walnut between his pecs, or something like that.

Yorgi leads Anarchy 99, a posse of AWOL Russian soldiers who decide that the world would be a better place if there were more raves, more hoochies, and about 30 or 40 million less people. Cage has to endure being shot at numerous times before the audience learns all this, but I figure I’d save you the trouble. After all, by that point in the movie, you might be deaf. Anyhow, Anarchy 99 is building a submarine that they’ll use to shoot rockets full of lethal bio-blahblah at the sundry capitols of the world. Water neutralizes the poison, which makes delivering it via submarine about as smart of an idea as watching the Chabad Telethon (ah, late summer in Los Angeles) in a room full of skinheads.

Yorgi has a girlfriend, Yelena (Asia Argento). Astute viewers will know right off the bat that she will be Cage’s love interest. They’ll know that because she’s the only female character who doesn’t seem to go into estrus the moment Cage enters the room. Who will it be, Yelena: Yorgi or Xander? Xander or Yorgi? If she goes by muscle bulk, Xander wins hands-down. If she goes by silliness of name, we could be here for a while.

I think I’ve figured out what the problem is with XXX—it’s me. I’m about ten years removed from the film’s target audience. If I were 15 or 16, I’d probably think this movie was the most bitchin’ thing to emerge from Hollywood this summer. Unfortunately, I’m not. I’m too old to enjoy XXX. I’ll be too old to enjoy the inevitable sequel: XXXX (or would it be XXXI?).

Thanks for the reminder of my ever-encroaching mortality, Vin. However, if you keep it up with the franchises of dubious quality, your career might go the way of all flesh sooner than I do.

D. Patrick Seitz is a Southern California teacher and voiceover artist. He is sure that all of his sophomores next year will have seen XXX – all the boys, at least.

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