RUSH HOUR (New Line) Starring: Jackie Chan, Chris Tucker, Tom Wilkinson, Elizabeth Pena. Screenplay: Jim Kouf and Ross LaManna. Producers: Roger Birnbaum, Jonathan Glickman and Arthur M. Sarkissian. Director: Brett Ratner. MPAA Rating: PG-13 (violence, profanity) Running Time: 96 minutes. Reviewed by Scott Renshaw.
Life, they say, is all about trade-offs, but RUSH HOUR asks for a trade-off that just doesn't seem fair: in order to watch Jackie Chan in action, you've gotta listen to Chris Tucker in action. Chan is one of the most engaging performers in films, a creater of ingenious martial artistry whose personal charm makes his jaw-dropping stunt work even more fun to watch. Tucker, on the other hand, may be the funniest guy on the planet some day, but I'll never know it until he stops reading every line in the mellifluous tones usually associated with a circular saw. Chan is great; Tucker is grating.
RUSH HOUR balances the two nearly perfectly, creating a synthesis that is pure cinematic mediocrity. The premise, squeezed through the Play-Doh Fun Factory of buddy-action plotting, casts Tucker as LAPD Detective James Carter, a loose cannon perpetually aggravating his straight-laced captain (as though there were any other kind). When the kidnapping of a Chinese diplomat's daughter prompts the diplomat to bring in his old friend, Hong Kong Detective Lee (Chan) to help with the case, the FBI looks for a sucker -- er, volunteer -- to keep Lee out of the way of the "real" investigation. Thus fish-out-of-water Lee ends up cruising the L.A. underworld as Carter tries to get out of trouble by solving the case himself; thus more-mouth-than-method Carter needs Lee's fast hands and feet to save his skin again and again.
I suspect Tucker might have been thinking of RUSH HOUR as his BEVERLY HILLS COP, a chance to play the street-wise rebel with a badge in an action comedy setting. There's no question that he has his adherents -- the folks in the theater who were howling with glee and stomping their feet at his every bug-eyed shriek -- but I can't see Tucker crossing over into the kind of broad popularity enjoyed by Eddie Murphy. The reason is quite simple: where Murphy generally seems amused by the foibles of his on-screen foils, Tucker seems perpetually irritated. Every canned insult he spews makes him that much more unpleasant to spend time with -- not exactly the vibe you're looking for in a leading man.
He should take a few lessons from his co-star, who virtually defines "pleasant to spend time with." Director Brett Ratner may not have the visual flair of Chan's frequent collaborator Stanley Tong, but he's smart enough to get out of the way and let Chan do his thing (some sloppy editing choices notwithstanding). A Jackie Chan fight sequence still has the ability to dazzle the way no other fight sequence can, mixing silly bits of business with lighting-fast choreography. RUSH HOUR is nothing but fun when it's nothing but a showcase for Chan, whether he's fighting bad guys while trying to protect a priceless piece of Chinese pottery from harm, or scaling walls and trees in a manner more feline than human.
On paper, the collaboration between Chan and Tucker probably looked like an ideal match of opposites -- one the self-deprecating physical comedian, the other the self-aggrandizing verbal comedian. Their styles, unfortunately, collide where they should commingle. RUSH HOUR is less a Jackie Chan/Chris Tucker film than it is a Jackie Chan film alternating with a Chris Tucker film, each performer taking turns yanking the predictable material into his preferred comfort zone. If you're a fan of both lead actors, you'll probably get the double-barreled rush the makers of RUSH HOUR were aiming for. If you're like me, you'll find it misfiring as often as it hits its target. Only when Chan was in the spotlight could I ignore the mundane plot points, including an absurdly obviousl "revelation" of the villain's identity and an oh-by-the-way sub-plot involving an inexperienced bomb squad cop (Elizabeth Pena). Only then could I safely and happily suspend my disbelief. Only then could I forget what I had been forced to endure from the other half of the star tandem. Trade-offs can be so cruel.
On the Renshaw scale of 0 to 10 dry rushes: 5.
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