August 31, 2007
|
I wanna learn to swear in Japanese, too.No matter how much I beg, plead, or cry, never let me accompany Steven Seagal on any of his dangerous top-secret espionage missions. The guy is a loose cannon, a wild card, and his thoughtless antics will more than likely get someone like me filled with countless rounds of white hot lead right before its time to leave. And since I'm not the type of guy who can casually walk away from a gunfight without getting a scratch anywhere on his delicious frame, I seriously doubt assisting Seagal would be beneficial to my geeky white health. Trust me when I say I speak from experience. Unbeknownst to most, behind this laptop beats the heart of a ruthless albeit extremely clumsy professional killer. Pop, pop, pop, dawg.
Didn't mean to break your lamp.
Mysterious monosyllabic director mink's Steven Seagal yakuza tale Into the Sun, coincidentally, kicks things off with our favorite bloated master doing some clandestine aikido reconnaissance work deep within the heart of an impossibly steamy junglescape overflowing with all sorts of heavily-armed criminal masterminds. During this highly secretive operation, Seagal breaks protocol to save a curvy peasant from a pair of seedy rapists, a decision which ultimately claims the life of his trusty African-American counterpart. This scene, while completely unrelated to the rest of the film, skillfully sets the tone for the explosive nonsense that follows. Seagal, it would seem, will do whatever the hell he wants to whomever he wants without taking the lives of others into consideration.
You're so cool, Seagal, just like a tall class of ice cold imitation green tea with two packets of Splenda for added sweetness.
When he's not too busy paying extended romantic visits to his Japanese sweetheart, bad-ass American operative Travis Hunter (Seagal) is kicking skinny yakuza behind all over the neon city of Tokyo. Respectfully, of course. For the most part, people seem to like the guy, going as far as to awkwardly compliment our portly hero on his legendary swordmanship during a routine retail transaction. However, don't let Hunter's friendly demeanor fool you -- step out of line and he's definitely going to do some serious damage to the sensitive areas of your anatomy. Like I said, ice cold. With Splenda.
Hunter's superior abilities in aimless wandering and random aikido showdowns are put to the ultimate test when he's assigned to investigate the public assassination of a very outspoken political candidate. Using his skills in the deadly art of half-hearted interrogation, Travis begins to unravel this very tricky, very twisty murder mystery, an adventure that will lead him right into the heart of the neo-yakuza drug trade. Can our tender-hearted hero take down these sadistic villains without losing every single person he loves in the process? Probably not, but at least we'll get to see him use a sword. Sweet.
Into the Sun is, perhaps, the last vaguely coherent Steven Seagal picture the world may ever see. Though we are faced with the prerequisite plot holes which generally accompany this sort of silly slip-shod production, the script does its best to follow a logical, cohesive storyline without lapsing into grotesque cinematic laziness. Seagal -- who seems very much at home in Japan, I might add -- struts his stuff on a purely local level, haunting neighborhood nightclubs and pachinko parlors in his never-ending quest to dispense tough justice to would-be thugs lurking just off-screen. A Seagal flick with focus, you ask? Believe it, dear reader-san.
A fair warning for those who subscribe to the controversial theory that Steven Seagal is, in fact, an asexual human being: Full Clip director mink, in his infinite direct-to-video wisdom, has decided to include yet another installment of what I like to call Uncomfortable Seagal Sexual Fantasies. These creepy segments are akin to watching your horny grandfather put the moves on a plate of your dead grandmother's ashes. Nobody wants to watch this guy make-out -- I'm sure even Seagal doesn't want to watch this garbage. Please, for future reference, stop letting Steven get naughty. It isn't pretty.
I'm not kidding.
To carefully balance the lifeless scenes of obvious plot advancement, Into the Sun has mercifully ordered a half-dozen off-brand action sequences for your viscerral viewing pleasure. The standard-issue stunt doubling is tastefully incorporated into the fights, allowing you to easily imagine our lovable little panda muffin participating in these bright bursts of furious aikido action. The last fifteen minutes are easily the film's best, giving Seagal ample opportunity to get down to some serious old-school sword-induced bloodletting. Let me set the tone: If Steven were cast as The Bride in Tarantino's Kill Bill saga, it might have looked something like this. Have fun with that thought, okay?
What does this film get right? Well, to be perfectly honest, Into the Sun's saving grace is its unadulterated entertainment value. But let's not kid ourselves, folks -- this film is definitely direct-to-video material, right down to poor William Atherton's embarrassing "Why am I here?" performance. I'm happy to report, however, that all is not lost: approached by those who can genuinely appreciate uneven B-grade stupidity, Into the Sun might be worth the price of a cheap one-day rental from your favorite locally-owned video store. Even if you hate it with every inch of your being, you will have learned a very valuable life lesson:
Being Steven Seagal's secret lover is risky business.
0 Spasms:
Post a Comment