By Stephanie Zacharek
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By Alan Scherstuhl
By Stephanie Zacharek
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As pharmacologist Elmo McElroy in Formula 51, Samuel L. Jackson initially sports a seriously silly fake Afro along with hippie-dippy threads that make him look like some sort of flower-power cult leader. When next we see him, it's thirty years later, and he's got cornrows and is inexplicably wearing a kilt. Whether or not you find this sort of thing inherently whimsical will, to a large extent, determine your enjoyment of this cross- channel action-comedy.
Similar in style to Guy Ritchie's usual handiwork, Formula 51 -- which originally bore the better title The 51st State, in condescending reference to England -- basically plunks badass Sam down in rainy Liverpool with a drug to sell and various unkempt fellows on his tail, sporting rough accents and guns. One of these, Felix DeSouza (Robert Carlyle, at his most laid-back since The Full Monty), ultimately becomes the obligatory mismatched sidekick. This isn't exactly a new routine for Jackson, who's been paired up in similar situations with everyone from Emilio Estevez to Bruce Willis, but here's the thing: This time...he's wearing a kilt. And that, as Robert Frost once sort of said, makes all the difference.
In fairness, director Ronny Yu comes to this sort of movie a bit more deservedly than Mr. Madonna, who cribs extensively from Hong Kong directors while Yu actually is one. Best known on these shores for enjoyably preposterous B-flicks like Bride of Chucky and the kung-fu kangaroo movie Warriors of Virtue, Yu isn't going to gain highbrow cred anytime soon, but fans of Hong Kong-style action will recognize more of that tradition in Formula 51 than in any of Yu's previous U.S. efforts. The sound design, camera angles and editing all look like they came straight out of Asia; the gimmick here is that they're actually in the dingiest environments of England.
Elmo's excuse for being in the U.K. is that he's on the run from an American fat bastard known as the Lizard due to a big, scaly scab/birthmark/ deformity that covers much of his face and neck. After blowing up the Lizard (Meat Loaf, apparently realizing at last that being billed as "Michael Lee Aday" lures no one into a theater), Elmo seeks a buyer for his new wonder drug, POS 51, that's said to be 51 times stronger than anything else around (the POS is explained later, too late in the film to give away here). The next buyer's in England -- an associate of the Lizard's who skipped out on the last drug deal, thereby surviving getting blown up. Not that such a feat is difficult in movies like this, as the Lizard proves by swiftly emerging from the rubble with nothing but a layer of white dust on his face.
DeSouza is the right-hand man of the aforementioned English buyer, but when the deal turns out a little differently than expected, he ends up on the run with Elmo and a big bag of golf clubs. The golf gear, you see, is supposed to be funny. Like the kilt. Anyway, the Lizard has sent over a hit woman, the cold-blooded Dakota (Lovely and Amazing's Emily Mortimer, in a role her actress character in that movie would never have gotten). Conveniently, Dakota's the ex-girlfriend of DeSouza, who left her when she insisted on moving to the U.S., which he deems to be "like fuckin' Albania in neon."
Add into the mix a crooked cop (Sean Pertwee), a yoga-obsessed arms dealer (Rhys Ifans, overacting heavily, as usual) and the world's most useless gang of racist skinheads, and you've got yourself a movie. It's fairly predictable and cartoonish stuff, but also a lot of fun if this kind of thing's your bag (like Elmo's golf bag, which is funny, remember?). Screenwriter Stel Pavlou, a Liverpudlian liquor-store clerk who once served in the Greek army, may be a little too in love with profanity for it's own sake -- the line "He fucked me! I'm truly ass-invaded!" is repeated twice for emphasis, and exclamations like "Well, shit in a bag and punch it" fly fast and free -- but some of the humor is truly funny. On the other hand, there's also a diarrhea joke that belongs in a Troma movie (Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Toxic Avenger, perhaps?), or maybe on the cutting-room floor; take your pick.
Though savaged by English critics, Formula 51 is the sort of movie that often goes down better over there -- they're used to our accents, for example, while Carlyle's in particular may flummox some over here. A soccer rivalry that plays a pivotal role may also confuse more than one viewer on our shores, as both teams appear to wear almost the same exact colors (English viewers will undoubtedly notice the more subtle distinctions). And the culture critics will inevitably tut-tut about a movie that asks us to root for a drug dealer, even if he's Samuel L. Jackson in a kilt. For what it is, though, this formula provides a movie high worth experiencing.
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