Spring Break
REVIEW: '12 Rounds' an action-packed, meat-head flick
2 and a half out of 5 stars
Travis Moore
Issue date: 3/31/09 Section: Focus
It doesn't make a lot of sense to hold a typical action movie under the harsh light of scrutiny; it's about as sensible as standing in the path of a brakeless, speeding truck with a radar gun so you can know for certain whether it's traveling fast enough to kill you.
Simply put, "12 Rounds" is beef-headed, predictable, not at all inventive or fresh, and thankfully, never pretends to be anything more. It is the latest by-the-numbers, testostero-tastic effort from WWE Entertainment.
The plot, which could be described as one part "Die Hard," one part "Crank," follows Detective Danny Fisher (wrestler John Cena) in pursuit of a vindictive ex-con who seeks revenge on the cop - not because he was put away, but because his capture the year before led to the death of his girlfriend. Before you can say "millions of dollars in property damage," Fisher's own girlfriend is kidnapped and the thick-browed boy in blue must undergo a sadistic string of challenges to win her back.
Even if director Renny Harlin handles each challenge with the same jitter-cam mania as he did the last, thereby imbuing the film with all the emotional range of a linebacker who just stubbed his toe, there's a charming frankness to the partitioning of "12 Rounds" into bite-sized bursts of campy fun. Most action plots may really just be meager exposition serving only to string together chase sequences, but "12 Rounds" jettisons any justification of its own plot beyond the damsel in distress as a self-evident motivator. The silly cat-and-mouse games, rather than masquerading as an extension of a legitimate narrative, have instead become the narrative, and a film this dimwitted only benefits from such courtesy.
Clocking in at a reasonable 108 minutes, "12 Rounds" manages to wrap things up before completely wearing out its welcome, but the one-note nature of its antics may begin to grate on some viewers well before.
If you choose to see "12 Rounds," you probably know precisely why you're doing it and precisely what you're in for. A post-modern critique of genre conventions it ain't, but it's a capable distraction on a rainy day, and worth a go if you're willing to throw down the money for an entertaining popcorn matinee that wears its ropey, roid-raging heart on its one-size-too-small sleeve.
Simply put, "12 Rounds" is beef-headed, predictable, not at all inventive or fresh, and thankfully, never pretends to be anything more. It is the latest by-the-numbers, testostero-tastic effort from WWE Entertainment.
The plot, which could be described as one part "Die Hard," one part "Crank," follows Detective Danny Fisher (wrestler John Cena) in pursuit of a vindictive ex-con who seeks revenge on the cop - not because he was put away, but because his capture the year before led to the death of his girlfriend. Before you can say "millions of dollars in property damage," Fisher's own girlfriend is kidnapped and the thick-browed boy in blue must undergo a sadistic string of challenges to win her back.
Even if director Renny Harlin handles each challenge with the same jitter-cam mania as he did the last, thereby imbuing the film with all the emotional range of a linebacker who just stubbed his toe, there's a charming frankness to the partitioning of "12 Rounds" into bite-sized bursts of campy fun. Most action plots may really just be meager exposition serving only to string together chase sequences, but "12 Rounds" jettisons any justification of its own plot beyond the damsel in distress as a self-evident motivator. The silly cat-and-mouse games, rather than masquerading as an extension of a legitimate narrative, have instead become the narrative, and a film this dimwitted only benefits from such courtesy.
Clocking in at a reasonable 108 minutes, "12 Rounds" manages to wrap things up before completely wearing out its welcome, but the one-note nature of its antics may begin to grate on some viewers well before.
If you choose to see "12 Rounds," you probably know precisely why you're doing it and precisely what you're in for. A post-modern critique of genre conventions it ain't, but it's a capable distraction on a rainy day, and worth a go if you're willing to throw down the money for an entertaining popcorn matinee that wears its ropey, roid-raging heart on its one-size-too-small sleeve.
Be the first to comment on this story