Three stars. Rated R, for strong bloody violence, relentless profanity, sexual candor and brief drug use
By Derrick Bang
Too long, too loud and too laughably ludicrous.
Too profane, as well. Along with deplorably violent.
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| In characteristic fashion, Marcus (Martin Lawrence, left) wants to reason with a highly agitated suspect, whereas Mike (Will Smith) prefers the more direct, confrontational approach. |
Par for the course, in a film co-scripted by Joe Carnahan (who previously brought us Narc, Smokin’ Aces and 2018’s remake of Death Wish, among others).
Carnahan got an assist from co-writers Peter Craig and Chris Bremner, and the result — the very late-arriving threequel to 1995’s Bad Boys — delivers precisely what this series’ fans expect. I’ve no doubt they’ll all go home satisfied.
That said, this bloated cop thriller would be a slog without the mirthful banter between Will Smith and Martin Lawrence, returning as forever bickering “bad boys” Mike Lowrey and Marcus Burnett. Except that they’re no longer “boys, as their much younger colleagues frequently point out. They’ve become the cop equivalent of creaky old-timers, and the story has fun with this dynamic.
Marcus, a newly minted grandfather, is more than ready to call it a day. Mike, lacking his partner’s family ties, stubbornly hangs onto his bad-ass rep … while clandestinely dying his signature goatee, in order to conceal the grey. He believes the rep is all he has, despite Marcus’ insistence to the contrary.
Bad Boys for Life — something of a surprise, given the space between it and 2003’s Bad Boys II — is fueled by a classic “one last rodeo” plot. It’s laden with nonstop mayhem: gun battles; sniper assassinations; landscape-pummeling vehicular pursuits in cars, motorcycles, sidecars and helicopters; and several gratuitously gory deaths. Scores of assault gun-wielding thugs are dispatched bloodily, like swatted flies.
It’s all quite over the top; at a self-indulgent 123 minutes, this film definitely wears out its welcome. It also stretches credibility way past the breaking point, starting when Mike unexpectedly takes four to the chest from a semi-automatic assault weapon. And survives.
Seriously?
Catching one bullet would be sufficient for story purposes; four is an early indication of the absurd excess favored by Moroccan-born co-directors Adil El Arbi and Bilall Fallah (who built their résumé with the Belgian crime dramas Image, Black and Gangsta).
And no; that’s not really a spoiler, since this intended assassination takes place scant minutes into the film.
