These days, Jason “The Stath” Statham is rightly regarded as one of the top action stars of his generation and one of the top three “alpha baldies” of cinema thanks to a reoccurring role in the Fast & Furious universe. However, that wasn’t always the case, as the Stath’s journey to international stardom took him from a member of Guy Ritchie’s early acting troupe to a supporting actor equipped with a dodgy American accent and an even dodgier hairpiece in the likes of The One and John Carpenter’s Ghosts Of Mars. However, in 2002, the former Olympic diver from Derbyshire nabbed himself a role in The Transporter, the latest cartoonish euro-actioner to tumble out of the brain of writer/producer Luc Besson, the rest, as they say, is history. But while the movie “transported” Statham to the big leagues (sorry, not sorry), does the thing still manage to hold up today? Well let’s put it this way, despite the fact that the plot is generic as they come, The action is as slick as a lubed up Stath – you’ll see what I mean…
Frank Martin is much like any other retired serviceman living the sunny life in Europe, I suppose. He has a nice place on the French Riviera, he likes an uncomplicated, structured lifestyle and… oh yes, he tops off his pension by hiring himself out for illegal, car-based jobs as a “Transporter” that can include anything from delivering a suspicious package to being a wheel manager for hire for bank robbers who want to ensure their getaway occurs without a single hitch.
In fact, we meet Frank just as he’s being employed to do just that very thing, but we (and the robbers) soon learn that in order to do his job to the best of his considerable abilities, he sticks to three, unbreakable rules: 1) Never Change The Deal, 2) No Names and 3) Never Get Them Wet – no wait, Never Open The Package… that’s it. Anyway after the bank robbers find out the hard way that Frank doesn’t break his rules for anybody, Martin goes back to his sun-kissed simple life while avoiding some occasional friendly snooping from local police inspector Tarconi, but when he goes out to do his next job, he finds his precious rules tested to the limit.
You see, after picking up a rather large bag that’s due to go to shifty, Britpop-haired client, Darren “Wall Street” Bettencourt, he’s forced to break his third rule when he notices the package is moving while he changes a tyre. Inside, to his surprise, is a taped up woman whom he treats respectfully, but still delivers to Wall Street as per his contract – however, when he’s bretrayed with that old classic, a bomb hidden in wirh his money, he finds himself stuck in the midst of a spot of human trafficking and with his his former package – actually named Lai – by his side, he’s drawn into taking the operation apart piece by price thanks to some sweet martial arts moves and his ability to use his surroundings to hammer the teeth down the throats of his would be enemies. Prepare to be transported to the nearest emergency ward, bitches.
The notion of the classic action hero was in something of a state of flux in the early 2000s. The 90s had seen a clutch of Oscar winners descend on the genre while stalwarts such as Schwarzenegger, Stallone, Van Damme and Seagal were either gradually phasing out their careers or had tumbled into the depths into DTV hell and The Matrix had single-handedly changed the idea of what an action movie could be. However, in this wasteland, a bald, muscular hero emerged to prove that the notion of the action star wasn’t quite dead yet. Sure, Dwayne Johnson was just starting to make the jump between proffesional wrestling and big budget extravaganzas like The Scorpion King and The Rundown, but The Stath seemed like a slightly different breed as he wielded his male pattern baldness and an inability to maintain an American accent like a weapon in a series of surprisingly limber action sequences that marked him out as a natural successor to those who walked the path of the meaty beatdown before him.
If we’re being truthful, The Transporter isn’t exactly a great film as it features a Luc Besson script that feels like he wrote it in his teens, found it in a cupboard years later when he had some proffesional clout and put it into production with barely changing a word. To be fair, that’s a good description for every script that Besson produced that he didn’t direct, but despite its utter lack of realism and some rather creepy side plots, there’s a sense of careless fun in The Transporter’s direction that tips it neatly into the awesomely stupid category. This mostly comes from the pep that comes from having both Corey Yuen and Louis Leterrier plonked cosily in the director’s chair to share the load and while the fusion between the two hardly results in some weighty dramatic scenes, it does present some delightfully zippy fight scenes in order for the Stath to take flight.
However, getting to these fight may prove to be something of a slog. Statham’s London growl simply will not relent before the strained attempts of his rickety American accent and when he’s placed opposite co-star Shu-Qi, who at the time didn’t speak a word of English – and it shows – their awkward chemistry at times almost feels like the kind of acting you find in a porno. Similarly, the truly weird plot thread that’s sees Qi repeatedly gagged and ungagged by various people sort of sits awkwardly at the best of times, but the extended moments of bondage feels less like a silly quirk and more like Besson is actively trying to work a sizable kink into the movie.
Anyway, fuck all that stuff. Where The Transporter makes good is with a string of brawls and car chases that finally make the rest of the film make sense. While mixing up levels of action clowning that makes Roger Moore’s James Bond seem like Get Carter, Yuen manages to inject some of the kind of intelligent, ambitious brawls he once oversaw during the height of Hong Kong Kung Fu movies of the 80s. While other movies would just simply have Statham just fight a group of guys on a flat area, The Transporter has him utilise his environment to a giddy degree. Whether it’s Martin using a trussed up Li as a weapon against a couple of cops, or the sight of him defeating clusters of enemies with the aid of shirts, metal doors and light fixtures, it gives the set pieces a real kinetic thrust that carries it into one of the most audacious fight scenes of the decade.
Basically, it sees Statham surrounded by enemies in a warehouse setting and evens the odds by covering the floor and himself in motor oil in order to become too slippery for his enemies to hold as he snaps off the pedals off a bicycle in order to traverse the slick floor and proceed to beat off as many guys as he can (phrasing). Not only is the sequence possibly more homoerotic than the handshake from Predator, the surf frolicking in Rocky III and the entirety of Zack Snyder’s 300, but it’s utterly fucking hilarious too, especially when Statham exits stage left, sliding out on his belly like a goddamn seal on order to avoid some typically wild gunfire.
While hardly the finest that 2000s action had to offer, its still fun enough to be memorable and if nothing else, it’s still pretty cool to watch Statham take flight and claim his spot on the action hero podium – even if he’s oiled up like a violent chippendale…
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