Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle

Charlie's Angels was such a riotous melee of fun that a sequel was an inevitability. It was a rare thing: a remake that somehow grew its own personality rather than emerging as a poor facsimile of the original. It was loud, pacy, gloriously over-the-top and had a wicked sense of humour that shone through. You didn't have to think, or analyse - just enjoy.

Back come Diaz, Barrymore and Liu for more of the same - and Full Throttle, happily, knows when it's onto a good thing and exploits it. So we're treated to numerous shots of the angels bulging out of tight spandex or leather, gravity-defying bike jumps that put Vin Diesel's through-the-fence dive in XXX firmly in the shade, and an awful lot of dancing. Everything from CSI to "Singin' In The Rain" is irreverently parodied, and there are so many in-jokes and references to other movies (some subtle, some - like the poster for an up-and-coming Hollywood blockbuster - not so subtle) that you barely have time to catch your breath.

The cast have to manage without Bill Murray - who declined to return after "an argument" with Lucy Liu during the first film (word on the street was that he wouldn't speak to her except when the cameras were rolling). Filling his shoes is Bernie Mac, who is more at home handling the comedy than the action - and who occasionally suffers from a most annoying tendency to lapse into Bob Dylan-like incomprehensibility (OK, Murray phoned in his performance in the original, but at least we could understand what he was saying, which is more than can be said for his replacement on more than one occasion).

Also sadly absent is Tom Green, who provided some of the most memorable scenes last time around. Thankfully John Cleese is on hand to provide some bemused English sensibility as Alex's father, and Matt Le Blanc's role has been expanded a little - he's still playing Joey Tribbiani, but nobody's complaining. A whole host of cameos litter the soundstage - we could tell you who they were, but of course we'd be forced to kill you.

The film plays like a ninety minute pop video: the music supervisors have once more trawled the vaults and juxtaposed eye-popping kung-fu with music from the Prodigy, as well as giving Diaz more than one opportunity to revel in another elaborate disco fantasy. It jumps between The Matrix and Saturday Night Fever with alarming pace and there's barely time to breathe before the next battle or musical number - it really ought to be tiresome but in truth it's refreshing to see a film that doesn't take itself even remotely seriously.

There are weak spots: a newly-trimmed Demi Moore drips evil but is under-explored, a few scenes seem a little too contrived even for this style, and the narrative could have done without the preachy "family is important" motif. At the same time, McG should be praised for making one of the most unselfconsciously silly blockbusters since - well, since the last Charlie's Angels (perhaps not unreasonable, considering that he himself has one of the silliest names in the business). Fast, frantic, fun, and a damn good night out. And you know what sort of movie you're in for when three beautiful women - and Robert Patrick - drive a truck off a bridge, jump into a helicopter on the way down and then, five minutes later, are seen in a suburban lounge dancing to MC Hammer....

(Sunday, 6th July 2003)