REVIEW: Transporter 3
Jason Statham is probably the greatest thing to come out of England since Cornwallis' surrender at Yorktown... even though that pussy-fag didn't have the package to do it himself.
Transporter 3 is similar to The Transporter and Transporter 2... in that it kicks 15 kinds of ass... literally. Jason Statham returns as the very cool, very ripped, and very fast driving Frank Martin and does just that... kick ass, and lot's of it.
Frank Martin, now retired from the delivery business is forced into doing one more job for a very bad man (Johnson- an American (rule of the bad movie here.... when in the United States, the most effective villains are from Europe, preferably of the former Eastern Bloc region... when in Europe... the opposite holds true... the villain should be played by an American) who is trying to blackmail some French politician into changing his policies on garbage dumping in his country. Johnson has kidnapped the politicians daughter, an overly clubby looking Ukrainian chick and tossed her into an Audi being manned by the aforementioned Frank Martin, and through his GPS system keeps the pair in transit for most of the movie. Stir in a variety of car chases, some overly mismatched fight scenes, Statham nekkid, a few explosions, random breasts, a knife fight on board a moving train finale and you have the foundation for an epic feature.
When it comes to car chases scenes... I have to give the nod to you Europeans. There is probably nothing cooler than watching an ultra-modern sedan tear ass through an aged country side peppered with 18th century architecture as it scares the shit pebbles out of a herd of sheep being shepherded by some out of time old fuck by the non-environmental caring engines that whine like an Englishman at the dentist. The audio that these smog rockets produces is outstanding ... it sounds like they never shift from first gear. The mechanical screams of these cars is constant fuck you to all of those 'green' planet, conservationist, dick-sucks who think we should all be driving tiny futuristic bubble cars powered by cooking oil and chicken cum.
Perhaps the greatest feature of Transporter 3 and really any Jason Statham movie is the fact that it caters to everyone. I know what you are thinking, "Pat you are so full of shit and you love the cock", and you would be totally wrong (unless it was a Saturday night, then you'd be half right). While watching this movie with my lady friend ( Fletch ), some 25 minutes, while in a car shop, Martin begins to size up his opposition in preparation for a little full contact action.... the opposition in question is of course a dozen or so assailants brandishing the full spectrum of available garage implements. At this point Fletch sighs, due to his disappointment of the unrealistic nature of the upcoming fight scene ( or perhaps in the unrealistic nature of his own deviant lifestyle?), but quickly changes his tune as the Transporter disrobes prior to battle, revealing layers of heavily chiseled muscles than have been appropriately man-scaped and well-oiled. Statham has mastered the art of 'time' versus 'need for pecs and abs' so that it is now a scientific formula. I myself, was so moved, I transported my penis from my pants into my hand so I could violently masturbate to his shirtless form as he dispatched this cadre of villains with a variety of unorthodox fighting moves.
Martin and his passenger (the Ukrainian chick) are imprisoned within the car, or rather a 50 perimeter surrounding it because they have been outfitted with bracelets that will detonate if the wearer exceeds the minimum safe distance. Which is pretty fucking cool, especially to the unlucky bastards who experience the beauty of this 24k Semtex jewelry. With that in mind, Martin must find a way to rescue this young woman (from her panties), while not leaving his car.
Imagine if you will, that James Bond was a heterosexual... and you would have Frank Martin in Transporter 3.
Hamlin Grade: 8
Timothy Dalton is the one true James Bond,