Transporter 3: Review By B. Alan Orange

Jason Statham takes his shirt off and beats people up. You’ve seen it before, and you’ll see it again. When Statham’s name is attached to the top of a movie poster, you know exactly what you are going to get. Transporter 3 hits right smack dab in the middle of Death Race and Crank 2. If you’re not up to par on all things Stainless, this might come on like a blur, or a commercial for something you’ve already seen twelve times on cable. I assure you, its new Statham. As far as the film stock goes, anyway. The story on the other hand? Let’s just say one of my more intelligent cohorts couldn’t differentiate between Frank Martin and Chev Chelios after studying really hard the night before. Walking out of the theater she had to ask, “Is there a difference?”

Sort of. But not really. Mr. Chelios has a robot heart and an adrenaline addiction. Mr. Martin has an adrenaline addiction, too. But he drives a really fancy BMW. Jensen Ames also drives a supped up car. But his is a death-wielding mustang. All three of these guys like to take their shirt off. They all three throw a really mean fist. And they all three have given Statham healthy franchises to fall back on. He’s now going ahead with a fourth, entitled The Expendables, written by, directed by, and co-starring Sylvester Stallone. Rumor has it that this particular title will also culminate in an untold number of sequels sometime in the future. Statham will definitely be taking off his shirt. And there is a “slim” possibility that he will, in fact, drive a fanboy wish-fulfillment type vehicle at some point during the proceedings. What can you say? The guy’s certainly found his niche. And if you like wallowing in that niche, you’ll definitely enjoy this, his latest shirtless outing.

Transporter 3 seemingly came out of nowhere. Shot after Death Race and Crank 2, the movie was fast tracked to theater screens simply so you could have a side helping of Statham with your sweet potatoes on Thanksgiving Eve. On the set for his previous two films, Jason claimed that this particular run of cinematic sweet treats was over. But here he is, posing as Frank Martin once again. And now he claims that there’s a fourth and fifth film locked in the cannon and ready to be shot across the fields of America like a basket of flying French Fries. Is part 3 good enough to warrant that? Yes. And no.

Walking into Transporter 3, you pretty much know exactly what you are going to see. A bald guy drives a sexy woman really fast across various foreign countries, fighting bare fisted bad guys along the way. Frank Martin is a special delivery man. Think, the pizza boy next door. Only with a BMW and really impressive Kung fu moves. That’s your movie. This particular installment doesn’t deviate from that solid gold path. The only new elements are Martin’s striking reluctance to return to the job that made him famous. And a bracelet that will blow him to high heaven if he is more than seventy-five feet away from his vehicle at any given moment. That cruel device makes for some great action sequences tonally charged for the bargain bin. The women that come to oogle Statham’s steel barn abs might be a little disappointed. He actually gets a love interest this time out. But don’t fret too much, they’ve uglied her up as to be accessible to both the males and females in the audience. You never really quite think that their relationship will last. Not if you believe Sandra Bullock at the beginning of Speed 2, anyway.

Transporter 3 does give new insight into the private life of Mr. Martin. We see that he likes to fish with his good buddy Tarconi. And that they still rely on each other through the worst of times. And that he uses food talk to woo his backseat bitch. That’s right. While on his mission to deliver this kidnapped daughter of a government official, he wins her over with lines about Hometown Buffet and the Sizzler. She takes a hit of E, and before you know it, they’re making mad love in a field like a couple of lacadazical buffalo. Martin’s not exactly James Bond, but he makes for a pretty good $.99 Store knock-off. I doubt Transporter 3 is much of a threat to Quantum of Solace. Director Olivier Megaton isn’t interested in flashy style and substance. With this, his first stab at on-screen action and warfare, he is more intent on showing you a fast, cheap, good ol’ VHS fashioned time. And he does just that.

As you’ve probably guessed, there are some magnificent action scenes built within the fabric of this tight timekeeper. The exploding bracelet makes for an exciting means to shove our hero in some mighty uncomfortable situations. The fistfights are more urgent, and the foot chases are as breathless as anything you’ve seen in the previous two Transporter outings. At one point, Jason hijacks a BMX bike and makes through an American Apparel sweatshop like a speed demon on the verge of vomiting death in clunky chunks of metal. At another point, he leaps his magnificent BMW onto the top of a fast moving train. He also has an underwater adventure, and, as you know, he gets oiled up and fights about eighty goons at one time. Beatrix Kiddo’s got nothing on this guy. Still, the air was slightly let out of this well-worn tire for me. Why? Because we see every single exciting moment in the trailer. And that makes the heavy-handed dialogue scenes about beer and bratwurst a little bit harder to sit through.

Transporter 3. It’s not the best Statham of the year. So far, that honor goes to Death Race. But if you are a fan, you can’t go wrong with this on Turkey Day. It will work wonders in squeezing that tryptophan out of your blood stream. It’s a little bit more focused and fun than Part 2, and that should go a long way in urging you to seek this sucker out. Heck, I don’t need tot tell you to see it. Either you will or you won’t. Like I said before, you only need to look at the poster to know what you are getting. It’s like perusing the menu at McDonalds. This fast food f*ck ‘em up? It delivers with cheese and pickles. Is it really meat? Not sure, but it tastes all right.

Transporter 3? It gets a Whoop-doo!

(All of B. Alan Orange’s reviews are based on the Boo! or Whoop-doo! evaluation system.)