The bad boys are back and, despite pre-emptive acknowledgements about how time is catching up with Miami’s most bombastic comedy duo of cop partners, the action is as fresh and fun as ever in BAD BOYS: RIDE OR DIE. If the schtick between “sensible” Mike and buffoonish Marcus isn’t quite as fresh or fun, transmogrifying Marcus into a metaphysician certainly adds a piquant spin to the regular roster of this franchise’s standbys, which is to say car chases, shoot outs, and pyrotechnics above and beyond the immediate needs of the narrative. That previous franchise director, Michael Bay, makes another of his franchise cameos, this time in one hi-speed excursion, is a reminder to us all that we need not take any of this too seriously. Indeed, to do so would be not just counterproductive, but also completely counter to the filmic intention. Sure, Smith indulges in some high drama that belongs in a different opus altogether, but that’s no reason to let that artistic choice ruin the experience.
As we begin, Mike is starting a new chapter in his life, but one that will be put on hold when his past begins intruding on the present. He and Marcus are running late to Mike’s wedding to Christine (Melanie Liburd), the physical therapist who fell for him while helping him recover from a bullet wound. Unfortunately, zipping in and out of traffic has left Marcus feeling nauseated, which allows for the first gunplay of the story as a quick stop for ginger ale becomes a hold-up situation and a reminder about Marcus’ poor nutrition choices. It is the ideal set-up, re-establishing the character dynamics, as well as setting up the primo job the film will do in a recurring motif of eroticizing junk food.
Said eroticizing would be a result of Marcus’ near-death experience, from which he returns with a message from their late captain, Conrad Howard (Joe Pantoliano), an unshakable conviction that he can’t be killed, and doctor’s orders to eschew the sweet, the salty, and the fatty. Mike is pretty sure that the first two are a result of oxygen deprivation, but as things begin to fall in place, it becomes apparent that Marcus has been in touch with the other side. Whether his revelation that he and Mike have been soul mates through the ages is another matter entirely, and best left to those trained in the intricacies of psychology to parse.
The plot involves a drug cartel framing Howard, provoking Mike and Marcus to, what else, go rogue in order to clear the captain’s name. It also involves Mike making peace with his son, Armando (Jacob Scipio), the hunky drug dealer with intel from cartel-land, and who is currently doing time for his crimes that include killing the captain.
Armando is not the only blast from the past. Starting with the cryptic clues as to what Concord had been up to, and that led to his death, leading them to Fletcher (John Salley), genius techie turned a dealer in soon-to-be-demolished electronic art. Thanks to the machinations of the villain of the piece (Eric Dane), the plot soon reaches that sweet spot where the good guys, in the form of Mike’s old flame and new boss, Rita (Paola Nuñez) and her new boyfriend, smooth politician Lockwood (Ioan Gruffudd), plus, Conrad’s U.S. Marshall daughter, Judy (Rhea Seehorn), are chasing Mike and Marcus with almost as much zeal as the bad guys. The manhunt allows for such delights as a shoot-out on a helicopter in a death spiral, another with the pair in a violently combusting van, a tense encounter with good ol’ boys with rifles and time to kill, and a finale in an abandoned amusement park/villain’s lair tucked away in the middle of a swamp wherein lurks an albino alligator of jumbo proportions and putative racist tendencies. (Reptile boosters rejoice, he turns out to be an equal-opportunity predator.)
This, of course, is why we go to films produced by Jerry Bruckheimer, and in that this effort succeeds skillfully. Smith, in his subtly tailored sweaters and t-shirts embodying cool with the added twist of panic attacks, and Lawrence, chewing scenery with a practiced effulgence, are enjoyable, doing the impossible with armaments large and small. If their patter has a whiff of predictability at this point in the series, that is admirably balanced by supporting players including Alexander Ludwig as police tech-whiz Dorn, the whitest guy in Miami, and especially by Dennis Greene as Marcus’ Marine son-in-law, Reggie, a fierce devote of hierarchy as well as a one-man extermination squad who never breaks a sweat, or his stone-faced expression, yet never comes across as an automaton. No, there’s a lot going on beneath that carefully composed exterior. At least until the end, when it becomes one of the flick’s best payoffs. In the inevitable sequel, please, more Reggie. And, please more of newcomer to the franchise, Tiffany Hadish as the bedazzled and lascivious strip-club owner Tabitha.
BAD BOYS II was the favorite film of Nick Frost’s character in the second installment of the fabled Cornetto Trilogy, HOT FUZZ. BAD BOYS: RIDE OR DIE may not reach the dizzying heights that so bewitched PC Danny Butterman, but it is fun, frenetic, and notable for the refreshingly few lapses in logic to be found within its universe (when someone tells you to trust no one, and does it from the other side, believe him). The fourth installment of this franchise promises comedy and carnage and it delivers just that. No one dies pretty here, and the action, as is de riguer, strains credulity with its carefully choreographed mayhem. You may be tempted to debate the finer points of re-incarnation and/or poetic justice afterwards, but I’m betting it will be zingers Smith and Lawrence lob that land, not to mention Scipio’s nicely defined abs, will be what really sticks with you.
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