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Often they were goofy but guileless B-movies, endearing for their passionate naivete. Some even gained cult status despite themselves. And occasionally, there was a gem that would later come to be known as a genre classic, like The Day The Earth Stood Still. But that won't happen with Romeo Must Die, a sly slab of nihilistic schlock with a savvy eye for the bottom line: the inner city and suburban 18-25 crowd who flock to the cineplex on Friday and Saturday nights, plus all the adolescents who will slip past the ticket collector in defiance of the picture's R rating.
But for all its rousing, rock em - sock em action, this bad boy turf war set on the Oakland (California) waterfront runs out of testosterone midway through its raucous ranting, raving and kung-fu fighting. An East meets West angle has philosophical promise, but quickly disappoints when it turns into a mere parade of stereotypes.
The hostility between rival organised crime gangs -- one Chinese, the other African-American -- produces a racial storm when the son (Jon Kit Lee) of warlord Sing is killed. An opportunity for sociological enlightenment, you ask? Hardly. In director Andrzej Bartkowiak's hands, all chances of artistic rumination go by the wayside. Instead, this predictable mob tale drags out the old plot and plays like a connect-the-dots primer on gangster movies. In other words, both sides say they want to get along, especially since a mutual land-buying scheme could net them each $38 million. Inexplicably, someone's making it seem otherwise. But just who is at the heart of this treachery?
Enters Jet Li as Han Sing, the warlord's remaining son. In case you inadvertently let your subscription to "Modern Martial Artist" run out, Mr. Li is this week's heir apparent to the legendary Bruce Lee.
He's missing the white hat, but Han is no chip off the corrupt block. An ex-cop, it seems this karate kid took the rap for his power-hungry father back in Hong Kong and is wasting away in prison when he hears of his brother's terrible and untimely demise. In a scene reminiscent of sociopathic Cody Jarrett (James Cagney) when he learns about his Mom's passing in White Heat, Han breaks out. Talk about fancy footwork. Only Dr. Hannibal Lecter escapes from prison with more fanfare. The warlord's son will now head for Oakland and avenge his younger brother's death. Little does he suspect that love awaits in the enemy camp. Call him Romeo.
The film flirts with a potentially good idea, courtesy of Willy Shakespeare. But the screenplay by Eric Bernt and John Jarrell (based on a story by Mitchell Kapner) has neither the chutzpah nor the inclination to really attempt a hip-hop update of the venerable romantic tragedy. The accompanying music by several rappers, the John Phillip Sousaas of inner-city conflict, is lively if uninspiring. And in a missed opportunity, it probably didn't dawn on the music director to counterbalance the African-American sounds with some Asian noise. But it all ties in with an exploitative package astutely fashioned for box office draw. Which means casting singer Aaliyah as boutique proprietor Trish, the straight but with-it daughter of mobster Isaak O'Day (Delroy Lindo). You can't really call her an actress. Call her Juliet.
Probably believing that writing, let alone a good plot, is overrated, the filmmakers concentrate on the action. And, truth be told, there are several exhilarating fight scenes, plus superimposed X-rays that give audiences a chiropractic analysis of the bone crunching. But most of it follows a choreographic stencil of the same windmilling feet we've come to expect in just about every kick-happy flick. And with an overabundance of stop action, slo-mo and f/x wizardry synthetically heightening the battle scenes, a cartoonish hokiness detracts from the derring-do quotient.
So we don't know just how good a warrior this Jet Li really is. His acting acumen is another story. Suffice it to note that, while he was the fearsome epitome of evil in Lethal Weapon 4, it's doubtful he'll be doing Shakespeare in the Park any time soon. Yet Li does manage to meet the general thespic requirements of this mindless fare. Which means he can mix a general level of glib nonchalance with a suddenly violent and near-religious dedication to revenge. Hey, his Dad left him to rot in jail. He has issues. No wonder Trish finds him so irresistible.
Practically everything in this film is a wicked joke, especially when someone's kicking someone in the throat or littering a whole alleyway with combat scene casualties. And though some absurdly pretentious lip service is paid to family values (whereas glamorising organised crime family values is what they're really concerned with), fuelling the entertainment engine of director Bartkowiak's film is a questionable mean-spiritedness that may make you wonder: Oh Romeo Must Die, wherefore art thou, Romeo Must Die? The proper response is: Buried at the bottom of everyone's movie-going list, that's wherefore.
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