**1/2 Stars out of 5
The audience is hysterical. Jackie Chan is trying to figure out how to persuade a girl to go on a date with him. However, they aren't laughing at him because he's trying to pour his heart out; they're laughing because he's wearing a Hooters T-shirt.
That is what Jackie Chan has become: he's no longer a Hong Kong martial-arts superstar who is a comedian. He's now a funny American actor who happens to be a master at kung-fu.
First-time director Kevin Donovan could have cast anyone as the hero in "The Tuxedo," yet he opted for Chan, partly because of his kung-fu prowess, and partly due to his uncanny ability to induce laughter from the most innocent of smiles. It's sad knowing that Chan is replaceable as the lead, since he was cast for his goofiness and not solely his physical grace.
Chan is Jimmy Tong, a reckless New York taxi-driver-turned-chauffer for multi-millionaire Clark Devlin (Jason Isaacs). When Devlin is caught in an assassination attempt and sent to the hospital, he reveals to his new chauffer that he's a secret agent. Handing over all his operations, including a secret tuxedo that bestows the power of virtual invincibility, Devlin sends Tong out to find the mysterious Walter Strida.
Tong is suddenly paired with a rookie-agent named Del Blaine (Jennifer Love Hewitt) who mistakes him for the illustrious Devlin, and the two are assigned to track bottled-water tycoon Diedrich Banning (Ritchie Costa) who plans to taint various reservoirs with bacteria that will make his competitors' bottled water dehydrate the body.
The plot is absurd, to say the least. Writers Phil Hay and Matt Manfredi ("Crazy/Beautiful") and Michael J. Wilson ("Ice Age") have stretched the limits of creativity past the point of believability.
The $2 billion tuxedo Tong dons is able to electronically merge with the wearer's nervous system, allowing him to perform virtually any physical act imaginable, as long as it is programmed into the tuxedo's database (controlled via wristwatch). The wearer can assemble a rifle in seconds, or become a near-perfect James Brown impersonator.
It's strange how quickly Tong can scroll through the hundreds of choices in crisis situations and find the exact command he requires. Perhaps there is a scroll/search function built into the tuxedo. No, that wouldn't be believable. It must be thanks to Tong's superhuman New York City taxi-driver reflexes.
Tong claims at the beginning of the film that he doesn't know martial arts, and that causes one of the biggest problems in "The Tuxedo." There isn't anyone that can look at Chan and not imagine him kicking someone in the face.
While he does do his fair share of action scenes, the pure impact of Chan's fighting is watered down to almost nothing thanks to special effects made to remind the audience that the tuxedo is doing all the work. Adding insult to injury, Chan acts as if he doesn't know how or what he's doing. The act isn't very effective, since the equation "Jackie Chan = kung-fu" is permanently branded into the minds of virtually everyone. Watching him pretend he doesn't know what he's doing just isn't humorous. Someone more scrawny and helpless would have fit the part better - someone like David Spade. Now that would have been funny.
Hewitt is someone else who doesn't fit her role. Her character, Del Blaine, is learning the ropes of the spy game, yet she wants to be treated with the utmost respect. Hewitt takes the two concepts and splits her character into two completely separate entities. At times, Del Blaine is a solemn agent who wants to get the job done, and suddenly she becomes a crazed, whiny little girl who can't do anything. The emotional shifts are far too disorienting, and Hewitt simply destroys the character. Chan said it best in the infamous blooper reels at the end of all his films: "She's wasting our time. She's wasting our film."
In each passing movie, Chan's martial arts choreography gets weaker and more simplistic. He is far too old to still be making action films, and it shows in "The Tuxedo." Luckily, he is still able to make his audience laugh. Though his foreign dork act is getting old, his wrinkly, elfish grin always manages to charm his way into the viewer's hearts. Pushing 50, Chan is no "Sex Machine," but he's still shaking it, and like his T-shirt said, those Hooters girls love him.
Photo: Meredith Forrest Kulwicki
