Jason Statham is the B-movie bruiser of the moment. His genre of choice is the revved-up testosterone pulp action film, but the key to his charisma is that he’s a lot more cutthroat smart and elegant, more coolly British, than an actor from the crash-cars-and-ask-questions-later school needs to be. With his shaved head, tersely handsome features, and you-talkin’-to-me stare, Statham is like the Bruce Willis of "Die Hard" crossed with a more sociopathic James Bond.
As the title character of "The Mechanic," Statham is playing one of those superstar, super-stealth hit men who can sneak into the most protected of lairs, slip away minutes later with the target dead, and leave no fingerprints. The opening swimming pool assassination is clever enough to set us up for a hit-man version of a heist thriller. But then Statham’s lone-wolf rubout-expert-for-hire is tricked into killing his long-time corporate associate, played by Donald Sutherland. Feeling used, he tries to make up for his mistake by taking Sutherland’s son under his wing -- a ne'er-do-well rich boy played by Ben Foster, who’s like a gnarled, hillbilly version of Justin Timberlake.
How do Statham and Foster team up in this movie? Simple: Statham, in about six minutes, teaches Foster everything there is to know about being a master assassin. The sheer implausibility is jaw-dropping, yet I might have forgiven that had "The Mechanic" involved us in some sneakier suspense scenes. As it is, the movie is ham-fisted trash, like Robert Rodriguez’s "Machete" taking itself seriously. It’s enough to make you want to see Jason Statham take a break from B movies and become the A-list character actor he deserves to be.
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