They say that clothes make the man. If that’s so, The Tuxedo director Kevin Donovan wants to add this corollary: boobs make the woman. At least, that’s what one has to assume after watching his utter fetishization of Jennifer Love Hewitt’s most notable attributes. She shouldn’t be offended, though, because Donovan reduces everybody to something less than actual people, in a curious blend of Hong Kong Cinema stereotypes with American music video making. It’s watchable. At times it’s fun, but if you look too closely, you’ll see that The Tuxedo is just like its title character – a lot of flashy technology, but at heart an empty suit.
Granted, Jackie Chan is getting older, and probably needs a little help. Younger guys like Jet Li have gotten away with computerized graphics and wire work for a while. But Donovan doesn’t seem to trust that Chan can make that look good. Instead, most of his fight scenes get the fast motion treatment. The standard end credit outtakes come as a relief, because only there can you be sure that Chan actually did his own fighting.
He stars as Jimmy Tong, a cabbie right off the rack from his usual store of character. Saddled with a colorful Jamaican sidekick at first, the film drops the character faster than a junior high student does Toughskins. Tong is one heck of a fast driver, perfect for a job chauffering Clark Devlin (Jason Isaacs), a James Bond clone stuck in New York City. The two form an easy friendship, with Jimmy having more than a passing resemblance to Kato. But even though an official act of congress states that all American Jackie Chan films require an action team, this isn’t it.
When enemy agents blow up their limousine, Devlin ends up hospitalized. His last warning to Jimmy is to trust no one, and to put on Devlin’s special tuxedo. The tux, you see, is the true secret of Devlin’s suaveness. It bonds itself to the wearer, granting him all sorts of special abilities, including, when necessary, the voice of James Brown. It could happen.
Why not alert his superiors, when at no point throughout the rest of the movie is there ever the slightest hint of corruption from within? You’re asking the wrong question. Move along. There’s nothing to see here.
You’re probably wondering when we get to the boobs. Remember that the team has to have one wacky member, and it just doesn’t get any wackier than a chick. Actually, for a parody of a Bond film, Hewitt makes a surprisingly believable young scientist. She’s pretty, but not ridiculously so, and the script gives her an almost total lack of social skills to make up for her being smart.
In fact, it goes so far as to make her pretty unlikable and unreasonable in her know-it-all attitude, a hold-over bit from many Chan films. This catches the attention of the bureau chief (Bob Balaban, in little more than a cameo), who assigns her to be Devlin’s new partner. Don’t ask why a woman this heavy into research would not bother to find out what he looks like ahead of time. It’s important for you to believe that Jackie Chan can pass as Jason Isaacs.
The two team to take down drinking water magnate Diedrich Banning (Ritchie Coster). Also by an act of congress, all world-conquering villains must look and act feyly British but have Germanic names. Despite Coster’s utter lack of enthusiasm in the part (bad guys should have a little more fun), this part of the movie works. Aided by the jumpy Dr. Simms (Peter Stormare), Banning plans to infect the world’s natural water supplies with a bacteria that actually dehydrates people. His bottled water company will then be able to step in and make a killing. Why, it’s so crazy, it just might work.
Honestly, it’s a more sensible plan than in the last three Bond movies, betraying a better script than the direction and editing can handle.
Sorry. I got away from the boobs for a moment. Anyway, everybody at the agency sniggers and drools over Hewitt and fellow agent Debi Mazar. Just to make sure there’s equal time, the girls take target practice shooting out the crotches of masculine targets. And then Hewitt gets thrown into a pool, and the action switches to slow motion. We get it, guys.
Luckily, Chan has charm that overcomes just about anything. Even the worst of his films have something watchable, and he is such a superb physical comedian, not just a fighter, that you can believe that his body has a mind of its own sewn into his clothes. In particular, a sequence involving pants-only defense while he struggles to get them on is a classic. The only awkward moments come when he’s forced to play to the sex jokes.
Eventually Hewitt warms up, too, but that’s because the camera really loves her, not because the character gets much better. And by loves, we mean in general. The camera here pretty much just molests her, and kids, that’s not love.
The film ends with a potential future for a Devlin and Tong team, and though The Tuxedo itself isn’t that great, but in other hands a sequel could get better. Isaacs at least deserves a shot at playing a Bond character in which he gets to actually be in a majority of the film. He and Chan have a chemistry that works just as well as Wilson and Tucker and Chan.
Tally this one up as at least a Raisinets movie. It’s not quite as filling as popcorn, but you won’t be too sorry you took a taste.
