Doesn't taste as great (and it never was filling), Jun 24 2003

In round one, I went with the girls.

In round two, I'm leaning toward Charlie's Party Poopers.

Director McG's aptly titled creation, "Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle" needed less skit and more skirt. McG opted for the skit, realized in endless, one-after-another action setpieces that, in this already drenched-with-CGI climate, are not likely to stand out. There is nothing here to make one rethink the list of the summer's best stunts; nothing up McG's sleeve matches the active virtuosity of "The Matrix Reloaded" or the opener in "X2" or the desert battle in "Hulk." In fact, McG is still employing the stop-the-frame, bullet-time CGI that "The Matrix" has moved past.

There's is an arrogance at work in McG's approach, as well, that echoes, sadly, Michael Bay, a kind of impending pressure that if you don't find this mayhem abosolutely stunning, if you can't appreciate the various shades of red, blue and pink splashed across the screen, than you're a stiff. In the wake of the big, unexpected success of the first film, McG, along with producer Barrymore and everyone else that cheerfully poured their talents into this mess, clearly thought they had stumbled upon a kitschy, T&A version of James Bond or something.

How else to explain the opening sequence, the one you've seen in the trailers, that bears the mark of "this is one of our long line of trademark boffo opening sequences!" How else to explain the plot, an ominous piece of goods about two rings that reveal the identities of every person in the FBi Witness Protection program? And how else to explain the dead-in-the-water return of Demi Moore, who never had much fun in her movies in the first place (I do not recall the woman laughing...ever). The "fun" is the same "fun" from the first movie. The same boyfriends even come back. And Bosley, now played by Bernie Mac, is the same flat, straight man from the first picture.

I have to admit it takes a little effort to refuse bubble gum this sweet. But harmless as the movie may be, it is tedious, and very empty, and it seems to demand that no one acknowledge that it has flaws that can be fairly attributed to "fun" movies. As if to prove that emptiness can never be proverbial, McG keeps cutting and shooting and making his actors mug, all in an effort to prevent and mask over the dead air. But the dead air is still there, underneath, and it's a deadlier kind, because it hints at the sound of fury, signifying just what you think it does.

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