Simon West
The Mechanic

So, moviegoers of punches, nonsense, and laughter, we meet again at last.
I'm reaching out because yesterday was a special night, almost magical, indeed let's be honest: enlightening.

I was at Andrea's house, the guy who brings us movies full of punches and blood at the cineforum - you know, the one who gave me Bronson (which, I swear, I'll talk about sooner or later) and we were finishing a lavish dinner with crocodile candies and more flavor.
Between a candy and a potato substitute, I began a nostalgic rant about those great action films, vaguely homosexual - and if you have anything to say about this point, let me refresh your memory with some archive images: {exhibit 1; exhibit 2; exhibit 3 exhibit 4 exhibit 5 exhibit 6 exhibit 7 exhibit 8 - which were so popular among us kids when attending compulsory school.
I was sucking candies with misty eyes and death in my heart saying that everything used to be better, that there were mid-seasons, that young people had ideals, that marijuana was better and cheaper, and that action films had verve, ideas, and a plot, if not always decent, at least bearable in all its predictability. In short, I was saying a lot of nonsense, but I didn't know it yet.

Andrea looked at me like one looks at a fly banging against a window and before I could finish my melancholic exaltation of the times that were, he interrupted me and said <<< Pop, look, today there's Statham...>>>. <<< And you're right,>>> I replied <<< But good Jason's gem is Crank. Surely, you won't compare "Crank" with "Predator" or "Conan"... They're too different, Crank is a new way of making movies, the closest thing to the golden age that the "new bald ass-kicker" - god, I don't need to tell you who the "old bald ass-kicker" is??? - has ever done is Transporter and, excuse me, but Transporter is half rubbish>>> Andrea was cryptic in his response:<<< The mechanic doesn't ring any bell, does it?>>>. He had too sly a look for me to reply with something sharp to play superior. The only thing my mind could focus on was Death Race. He was cornering me, and I was a step away from a technical knockout when he resumed: <<< So dear Pop, you owe me another favor>>>.

And so we go to the kitchen, stock up on popcorn and coca-cola - because free burping at Andrea's is a must, and I wouldn't want to be present at a condo meeting to hear what the neighbors think, even though... - and we relocate to the living room to put on this "The Mechanic".

The film starts.
There's this assassin, somewhat Leon-style, somewhat James Bond-style, who's tasked with sending his colleague and mentor "Sutherland on wheels" to watch the grass from the roots because he's identified as a traitor. And it's quite slow, I must say, nothing special, Donald always leaves his mark, but the film lacks something. It's all too hasty and not enough "punches". Until... Until the mission starts.

My god folks; the plot, as predictable as it is, develops so pleasantly that I was convinced I had gone back 20 years to the times of "The Running Man" or "Commando"; and then the action... CGI blood spurting delightfully - a handful of popcorn for every bullet fired, or almost - outlandish violence, maneuverings between crawl spaces, erotic self-asphyxiations staged, car and bus chases enjoyable with cosmic explosion anointed, and more.
Midway through the film, Andrea looks at me satisfied and says <<>>. <<< Shut up, jerk.>>> I reply <<< You're distracting me, and if I miss even half an explosion, I'll set my own fart on fire and set your hair ablaze. Damn, what movie have you brought?>>>.
The film then continues with alternating moments of " action", "relax" and "my god it hurts like hell" - those, basically, that make you take a long deep breath with your lips pursed tightly and you produce a sort of fiuffffffffffffffhhhhhhh" noise. Among these there's the real gem of the whole movie: Good Jason has this thing in his hand which is truly a gruesome weapon, and you think <<>> And then he: Bam! changes tactics; the guy flies out, the car passes, and then, sbaabaaabaabaaaaaaam!
And there you go, everyone up! Popcorn as if New Year's Eve fireworks, cherubs descending from their magical fairy world to sing their Hallelujah, us enclosed in the room singing a propitiatory chorus of Coke burps, the impatient neighbors ringing the intercom, Andrea with a spinning kick sends them back into their apartments shouting <<< Take Chuck losers! We have Jason!>>>... A delirium... That scene caused such a commotion in the building that an extraordinary meeting was called which my friend Andrea would very much prefer not to attend.

But excuse me, I'm getting sidetracked, we were talking about the movie and more action-packed action.
...So, between one adrenaline rush and another, the finale arrives. And it's a finale that makes you say "damn, I thought they were going to end it stupidly, and yet it holds up here too!" And it makes you say it 3 times, in a succession of plot twists as banal as shit, which you admittedly didn't expect from the movie and especially didn't expect from Simon West - that if I knew the movie was his, I wouldn't have watched it, and all of you who like me flee at the mere mention of his name, pretend not to have read his name above.

In short, this little film has entered my personal "top ten" of men's movies since yesterday. And if you're used to calling "uncle" the likes of Bruce, Swarzy, Sly, Steven etc., you'd do well to secure a front-row seat at the cinema as soon as possible...

Now excuse me if I run off in a hurry, but I need to repay Andrea and I have to go with a proxy to the condo meeting on his behalf. Catch you in the next few days - I hope -.  

 Final notes from popcorn - which thanks you for reading this far - for a better understanding of the writing:

1. I wanted to apologize for the image of "Sutherland on wheels": unfortunately, I couldn't find one where the chair is more visible, but you can't deny that Statham's expression deserves an Oscar.
2. He has seen how the frame of " my god it hurts like hell" ends
3. Before the cinephile of duty comes to pull my ears, I'd like to point out that this stuff is a remake of The Mechanic from '72 with Charles Bronson (this time the real one).