By: Felix Felicis (Five Beers) –
This review is written as an Open Letter To Jason Statham’s Abs. Dear Jason Statham’s Abs, how are you? It’s been awhile since we’ve seen each other and so much has happened! You made Spy with Melissa McCarthy and boy were we glad you did! The mouth that sits on top of your neck is HILARIOUS! Kudos. So when the assignment to review Mechanic: Resurrection came down the pipe in exchange for this writer to score the Suicide Squad review (not the reward we thought it would be) we figured at least it would be a good time to catch up and see what you’ve been doing. Know that what comes next is not your fault.
Cards (and all the alcohol) on the table, I haven’t seen The Mechanic. I won’t lie to you, Jason Statham’s Abs, I may have mixed this franchise up with The Transporter franchise and ended up having to frantically google the plot to the (surprisingly convoluted) original during the trailers before my live-tweet of Resurrection (check that out here). That said, Wikipedia plus what little exposition I gleaned from Resurrection gave me enough to ride this anemic plot pony right over the finish line and off to the nearest open bar. Here goes: The Mechanic: Resurrection follows, um hold on I forgot your character’s name, oh right, Arthur Bishop (you and the rest of yourself, Jason Statham) as he Whole Ten Yards it (basically fakes his death and retires from the assassin’s game) then gets found by some evil guys (knockoff British Bond villain “Crain” played by Peaky Blinders’ Sam Hazeldine), is then blackmailed (though you and the rest of you saw this coming MILES AWAY) by the abduction of Jessica Alba’s sandy beach bum into doing MORE evil things, people die, more people die, the last of my dignity dies; the credits roll.
You were there, Jason Statham’s Abs, and that’s always a good time. My favorite part was when you managed to fight your way out of a prison riot with just a six pack and some exploding gum! Oh man, you’ll have to teach me that trick for next Thanksgiving! Plus Tommy Lee Jones was in Resurrection and that man is a national fucking treasure. Jones was having a blast wearing pajamas to work and channeling his inner Nicholas Cage, complete with a dash of murdery-Elton-John-rose-colored-glasses flair. Don’t get me wrong, Jason Statham’s Abs, you did a lot of heavy lifting in Resurrection (literally) but Tommy Lee Jones is what brought this failing, Frankenstein’s monster of a cobbled-together-paint-by-numbers-cardboard-cutout-of-an-action-flick to LIFE.
You may not know this, Jason Statham’s Abs, but screenplays take months and months of hard work, dedication, revisions, and a squeaky stress ball with eyes that pop out for those sections that just don’t want to behave. Luckily, The Mechanic: Resurrection sidesteps all of that and I can only imagine the screenwriters banged this one out during a tequila-fueled bender on the beaches of Mexico using sock puppets as visual aides, leaving us with a choppy, predictable, and sloppy story arc populated with A-list talent working off a D-List script. Just close your eyes and imagine every single tired cliche in one place. Open them. Congratulations, you’re looking right at Resurrection.
Literally everyone except Tommy Lee Jones is phoning this one in and I’m only 70% certain Jones is giving it his all. The characters are all so shallow they’d stub a toe wading through a kiddie pool and it’s a waste of their talent, our time, and my retinas. I cannot imagine that Resurrection will be anything but a blip on the cinematic radar and this time next year I’ll still be talking about that amazing Laika release (if you haven’t seen Kubo and The Two Strings yet STOP READING THIS REVIEW AND DO IT NOW I’LL BE HERE WHEN YOU GET BACK I PROMISE) while The Mechanic: Resurrection has long since been scrubbed from our collective short term memory.
This very special beer is a solo tribute to Jessica Alba (stay with me, Jason Statham’s Abs, we’re coming back to you) and her sandy-damsel-in-distress beach bum. In a film so littered with plot holes I’m surprised the cast didn’t trip in them and break a neck somewhere along the line, I cannot wrap my head around how Jessica Alba allowed herself to be used as a plot-driven McGuffin WHEN YOU LITERALLY KNEW THE EVIL PLAN THE ENTIRE TIME FOR FUCK’S SAKE YOU EVEN TOLD JASON STATHAM’S ABS (ALONG WITH THE REST OF HIM) THE EVIL PLAN AND HE LITERALLY, WILLINGLY, WALKED INTO IT. WHAT. IN. THE. EVER-LIVING. FUCKING. FUCK. There is no way a wily assassin and some kind of militarily trained retired soldier of some sort (they spend about as much time on Jessica Alba’s backstory as I do thinking up fake names to give out at bars) could possibly be that stupid. Right? RIGHT? Sigh.
There’s a special circle in hell reserved for those filmmakers who make black holes of suck, crushing light and creativity all around them (Michael Bay and everyone involved with Mechanic: Resurrection are going there) leaving nothing but boredom and hordes of coma patients in their wake. Except for you, Jason Statham’s Abs, you get a free pass because it’s not like YOU were driving this mediocre train wreck over a cliff. There were zero reasons for this film to have been made and after having seen it, there are still negative justifications for this franchise going forward, but, in a society revolving around the almighty dollar (and in a world where Firefly can be cancelled) I have the utmost confidence that studio execs will ignore that and I’ll be seeing you again, Jason Statham’s Abs, probably when you’re eighty and fighting off the onset of acute dad bod.
The Mechanic: Resurrection (2016)Drinking Game
Take a Drink: at every location change and Sip: for every subtitle.
Take a Shot: whenever Bishop whacks a target (fake whacks count).
Take a Drink: every time Jessica Alba flops around uselessly like a Magikarp.
Shotgun Your Beer: for Tommy Lee Jones Sherlocking the big reveal.