Based on the A.J. Quinnell novel of the same name the story is set in Mexico City where kidnappings have become a business causing panic among the wealthier citizens and making bodyguards a necessity. John Creasy (Denzel Washington) an ex-CIA operative/assassin whose past has turned him into a shell of a man comes to the city to visit his old friend Rayburn (Christopher Walken)--and ends up reluctantly taking a job as a bodyguard to nine-year-old Pita Ramos (Dakota Fanning) the precocious daughter of Mexican industrialist Samuel Ramos (Marc Anthony) and his American wife Lisa (Radha Mitchell). For Creasy it just a means to an end and he has little interest in getting to know Pita even though the little girl continually pesters him with personal questions. She eventually gets through however chipping away at Creasy's seemingly impenetrable exterior and opening up his wounded heart. Then just as the two bond bam! Pita is kidnapped. Although seriously wounded during the kidnapping Creasy's inner Fire has been released healing him just enough so that he can track down and kill anyone involved in with or around the kidnapping. As Creasy says "Revenge is a meal best served cold."
Washington puts in a yet another multifaceted tortured performance as ex-assassin Creasy who has a suicidal disposition and drinks excessively to help wipe out bad memories. Luckily for him Creasy is saved somewhat from a fate worse than death when he lets Pita in his heart. Here we see the easygoing Washington we know and love as he and Fanning (I Am Sam) display some genuine chemistry. Not surprising with a pixie face and infectious charm like hers. Yet when the kick-ass Washington emerges--a part the actor dishes out with chilling accuracy--the film suddenly asks you to really suspend your disbelief. Creasy is in a serious world of hurt after the abduction but because he's all fired up he becomes superhuman. That means all he has to do is slap on some gauze bandages so he come out guns a-blazin' as well as periodically soak himself in pools to--what let the blood flow out of his open wounds? Please. Maybe the film should be called Man on Fire Whose Bleeding Gunshot Wounds Won't Stop Him.
Director Tony Scott (Spy Game Top Gun) does an excellent job setting the scenes such as Creasy and Pita bonding or Creasy inflicting his particular methods of torture on his enemies and though he may not be quite as talented as his brother Ridley (Matchstick Men) he does have a specialty--he's all about the action. Man on Fire is at times very much an adrenaline ride especially when Creasy is on the warpath with fast cuts and documentary-style camerawork. Shooting entirely on location in Mexico City the director succinctly captures the city's pollution traffic and cacophony that bombards its citizens heightening the sense of panic and pandemonium at every turn. (One wonders why any wealthy person in their right mind would let their kids live there if there's a likelihood they could get kidnapped--but that's besides the point.) It's the film's plodding underwritten story that fails to keep up with the pace. Creasy has to go through a myriad of corrupt cops and corrupt lawyers (is anyone here not corrupt?) to get to the main kidnapper known only as "the Voice." To do so Creasy elicits the help of a sympathetic newspaper reporter (Rachel Ticotin) and the city's seemingly one honest cop (Giancarlo Giannini) to get information all while still bleeding from his wounds. Enough already. About two-plus hours later we finally get to the end and it's pretty anticlimactic.
Plenty of worries mate. A third helping of this croc-out-of-the-Outback series is one too many. The difference between the delightful original and this plodding trek through Los Angeles is almost negligible. Once again crocodile hunter Mick (Paul Hogan) puts his survival skills to the test while roaming the wilds of a major metropolis. The Big Apple jaunt resulted in Mick falling in love with journalist Sue (Linda Kozlowski). In Los Angeles Mick grapples with making Sue an honest woman thanks to the prodding of their young son Mikey (Serge Cockburn). La La Land provides enough distractions to prevent Mick from popping the question. Lavish parties. Acting gigs. Monkey wrangling. And the strange business practices of Silvergate Pictures. Sue returns to the United States to temporarily oversee her newspaper magnate father's Los Angeles bureau. Her first assignment: expose Silvergate and its likely criminal activities. But who needs a Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative journalist with N.Y.P.D Blue junkie Mick Dundee on the case.
Crocodile Dundee in Los Angeles lacks bite but Mick remains the life and soul of the hunt. The leatheryHogan - now 61 but leaner and fitter than a certain real-life crocodile hunter half his age - is so affable fascinating and boyish that it's a pleasure to share his company. He's the same old Mick Dundee that audiences laughed at but mostly laughed with in the late 1980s. Hogan hints--though not very seriously--at the end of this adventure that it's time to call it quits. If so he would be wise to pass his croc-skinned vest and hunting knife on to Cockburn. He's a chip off the old block. Whether he's rescuing skunks or trapping rodents Cockburn manages to charm without being self-consciously cute or deliberately bratty. Too bad Kozlowski--Hogan's wife--has nothing better to do than lovingly raise her eyebrows at Mick's occasional blunders or pass herself off as a journalist.
Simon Wincer last worked with Hogan on 1994's Lightning Jack a not-so-wild Western that floundered in its bid to put any distance between Hogan and his Crocodile Dundee persona. In Wincer's hands Mick Dundee's latest urban jungle safari lacks any genuine surprises. Is Mick the only tourist to find himself confronted by a mugger each time he steps off the plane? In Australia Mick may call the Outback his workplace but he does seem to enjoy some modern amenities. So it's become something of a stretch to imagine that Mick doesn't watch TV and can't take a bath without fearing a crocodile attack. Much of the blame rests with the bland and trite cultural differences that writers Matthew Berry and Eric Abrams compel Mick to face continually. (Hogan contends that he deserves credit for writing the script but unless he needs the extra cash he should back down--it's nothing to be proud of.)