All Copies of xXx 2: STATE OF THE UNION Should Be Frozen In Liquid Nitrogen and Dropped in the Marianas Trench

I'm faced with a bit of a problem.

And that problem is that xXx 2: STATE OF THE UNION is completely indefensible. It is possibly the laziest film I have ever had the displeasure to sit through, insipid and insulting and seemingly scripted by a Mad Libs: Action Films book. Some of you might be saying, "But Brandon, what were you expecting? The film was advertised as being 'from the director of DIE ANOTHER DAY' and starred Ice Cube and the chick from SPECIES III." Sadly, the film performs below even these low expectations - I've seen SPECIES III and even that DTV abomination shows a stronger grasp of basic film conventions than the drivel on display here.

I won't waste more print devoted to a discussion of this film's problems, as that would be a complete waste of everyone's time, most of all yours, but instead talk about the real problem this film poses to the world - the fact that there is no way I can keep it on my shelf where it will be visible to all my friends. I won't even be able to defend it on ironic grounds, as I do when people note that I keep SPECIES I, II, and III on prominent display.

On one hand, I can't wait to get rid of it at my local BMV, where it will hopefully languish on the store shelf, until a thick unscrubable layer of dust and/or sun damage makes it unsellable and some hipster store clerk is forced to throw it in the trash. But what if some other poor shmo like myself picked it up and thought, "Hey, Ice Cube! I bet this is better than TORQUE!" and paid upwards of $5 for it, only to discover that TORQUE looks like Francis Ford Coppola's version of THE FAST & THE FURIOUS when compared to this shit. Side note: TORQUE is also on prominent display in my shelf, for which I will make no apologies.

No, if anything, I need to contain the virus that is xXx: STATE OF THE UNION. I'd love to make some grandiose demonstration of my hatred, like burning it with a blowtorch and throwing it's flaming ruins off my balcony, but that would be to overstate it's evil. People would wonder what compelled me to make such a statement, and possibly feel intrigued to rent it. I can't make this film a martyr. No, what this film needs is a nice quiet abortion, something that will pass quietly into the night and then never be seen again. Like if Michael Bay made a remake of ROSEMARY'S BABY where Rosemary takes the day-after-pill after realizing she was raped in some frenetically-filmed Satanic ritual.

And so I put xXx: STATE OF THE UNION into my Drawer of Shame. My Drawer of Shame is a sacred shrine to the stupidities of my youth, a humbling reminder of things I wasted money on, like my ill-advised 2005 purchase of James Blunt's "Back to Bedlam" or Three Days Grace's self-titled album. I keep these things so that I never get a big ego. Whenever I feel like a pretty cool dude, one look at Linkin Park's "Live in Texas" CD/DVD combo puts me right back in my place. And so xXx: STATE OF THE UNION will reside in good company, away from judging eyes. My only fear is that these horrible forces may some day congeal and form a sentient being.

I didn't like it much.

xXx: A Reminder That The 16-Year-Old You Was Awful

It must be summer. Because I just went on a bro-out of epic proportions, picking up a trio of movies that you'll see reviewed here shortly, the first of which was a truly unfortunate choice that will sit in infamy next to UP! on my DVD shelf for years to come...

There's one great moment in the entire 128-minute runtime of xXx (which, let's face it, is probably one more than we should reasonably expect). It's not the part where Vin Diesel co-opts a silver tray and uses it as a skateboard. It's not the part where he jumps through a barb wire fence by turning his motorcycle sideways in mid-air. It's not even the part where where he destroys an entire mountain and snowboards in front of an avalanche. It's where Vin Diesel confesses that he's a secret agent working for the NSA - and Asia Argento just laughs in his face. For a good twenty seconds.

And really, that's the only appropriate reaction to Rob Cohen's Bond-for-the-twentieth-century failure. To laugh in its face.

If the failings of the Bond franchise were that it were too childish, with its invisible remote control cars and cartoonish characters, then the failing of xXx is that it's painfully adolescent, zits and angry half-formed thoughts and all. At least the Bond films' childish nature contains a sort of innocent fantasy element, but xXx substitutes this for a fuck-my-parents-The-Ramones-are-awesome kind of attitude, which, while potentially refreshing, certainly lacks charm.

Vin Diesel's been good before (BOILER ROOM, anyone?) but here he's more than happy to lower his voice and glower menacingly and let the Rammstein soundtrack do most of his work for him. There's potential in the idea of the non-traditional secret agent, but the film is never quite sure who he is, and the audience is never really sure why he's helping the government. He just ends up coming off like a hypocrite, who loves to stick it to The Man but will also help out if it means he can drive around in The Man's GTO and shoot The Man's nifty tranq darts.

Speaking of hypocrites, I am one. Because the exact same character flaws exist with Asia Argento's Yelena, and I couldn't care less, because she is flat-out stunning. Rob Cohen's best choice in this movie was to outift Ms. Argento with a variety of thigh-high boots, and for that, he will have the 16 year-old me's eternal thanks. The less said about his other choice, to have every fifth shot be a Dutched angle, the better.

But still, it's better than STEALTH.