Siddity in the City

I just saw Transporter 3 with K, and let me tell you, our friend Luc has the formula for these films down to a science:

Car chase in the first 10 minutes? Check.

Jason topless in the first 30? Check, plus a bonus look at the stems. The top matches the bottom, I assure you. Head to toe sexypants.

Improbable fight scene featuring a 10-to-1 ratio of goon to Statham, requiring he disrobe and use Armani as a fight facilitator? Oh yes!

Irritating chick with little common sense, an honesty problem, a tenuous grasp of English and legs for days? Unfortunately, also a big ol’ check.

This last was the weakest bit of the film, as usual. Within seconds of the heroine’s (and I use that very, very loosely, I assure you) first lines, I wanted to punch that silly twunt in the throat. Repeatedly, and with vigor. The writing team really topped themselves with this character–I honestly didn’t think anyone could have irritated me more than Qi Shu in Trans1. I was wrong. And though it’s horribly unfeminist of me to say this, I kept thinking, “Honey, you are not nearly hot enough to be this big of an asshole and get away with it. Dial it down, Ukraine. Dial the attitude way the hell down.” (For a more thorough and appropriately feminist response to Luc Besson’s treatment of women, check here Spoilers.). Then I wished the plot had ended with her horrible death, and failing that, that someone would get in a punch to her throat.

I didn’t get my wish, though she did get sucker-punched in the gut…and the guy who sucker-punched her did eventually get punched in the throat! So in all, I did rather enjoy the movie (more than Trans2, less than Trans1), unidimensional female lead (again, fuck you very much Luc) notwithstanding.