Ghost in the Machine

Vinnie Jones' new vehicle is a pale specter of its predecessor.

Mean Machine opens with a scene that bodes well for the rest of the film: Soccer thug-turned-actor Vinnie Jones appears dolled up like 007; he's being lectured to by a "Q" type in a lab coat, who instructs Jones not to destroy his car (which he does, naturally). Turns out we're watching a sneaker commercial, with Jones as soccer thug-turned-pitchman Danny "Mean Machine" Meehan . The juxtaposition of the thuggish Jones, controversial in his heyday for crotch-kicking and best known now as the heavy in Guy Ritchie and Dominic Sena's films, with the suave image of Bond makes for a wry sight gag. Unfortunately, the movie's never that amusing again.

Part of the problem may be that Mean Machine was directed by a first-timer named Barry Skolnick, though we've been promised it's from the makers of Snatch and Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (the director of those films, Guy Ritchie, is only a producer here). The more significant predicament is that this is a fairly slavish remake of the 1974 Burt Reynolds vehicle The Longest Yard, which was, in fact, titled Mean Machine for its U.K. release. Reynolds' film, about a football player thrown in the slammer and forced to lead a team of convicts in a game against the guards, is still fun to watch, despite being a little politically incorrect by today's standards. This update sucks out most of the fun. Besides, rugby would make for a better adaptation than soccer, since it's a full-contact sport; or, perhaps, part of the point is to convince Americans that soccer is a tough game, too.

Jones isn't a terrible actor for an athlete. His line delivery is fine, and he managed to be somewhat expressive in Snatch. But here he's almost a nonentity, at least until the climactic soccer game. He wears the same scowl throughout and makes almost no impression next to the more colorful characters he's surrounded by, among them David Hemmings as the corrupt warden, David Kelly as the elderly mentor and Vas Blackwood as the diminutive sidekick named Massive. When Jones' Snatch co-star Jason Statham shows up as the most dangerous killer in the whole prison system, you wish he and Jones would've switched roles. Statham can at least carry a film; Jones, for the time being, is better suited to playing the unstoppable badass in the background.

It took three screenwriters to watch The Longest Yard and rework some scenes almost verbatim; at most, they've added in the requisite number of Brit lines, such as "You are nicked, Sunshine," and attempted to update the material. While Charlie Fletcher, Chris Baker and Andrew Day no doubt think they've made a grittier film by including sheets of rain, modern pop songs and a brutal drunken boxing/arm-wrestling bout between Jones and an equally burly lummox, theirs is actually the tamer version. The racial tension is mostly gone, save for a few remarks from the guards; the transgender cheerleaders and singers are history. (Admittedly, soccer doesn't have cheerleaders, but you'd think there'd be at least one outed homosexual -- or "bum chum," to use this movie's parlance -- in the entire prison.) And a surreal mud fight between Reynolds and a foe that was scored like a silent comedy has been replaced by Guy Ritchie-style smash cuts, fast motion and loud music.

More surprisingly, Jones' Meehan is made far less likable than Reynolds' Paul "Wrecking" Crewe, who, though a major ass, was partially set up by a scorned girlfriend; Meehan deserves to be in prison. And he isn't as smart as Crewe: The idea of playing the guards in a match is, in this telling, proposed to him by his sidekick Massive. He's also selfish, willing to consider throwing the final game for his own benefit, while Crewe was willing to do so only to spare his fellow teammates from further abuse. Given that both movies expect us to root for convicted violent felons over those assigned to protect us from same, we need every bit of sympathy the cons can muster; this time, there isn't much. The original's most obvious flaw, however, remains intact: A major character undergoes a dramatic change of a heart at a convenient moment without any explanation.

Most curious, perhaps, is the decision to film much of the climactic game in fast-motion. Can't they choreograph a good game without such gimmickry? Or are the filmmakers afraid Americans will lose interest? Some raucous commentary by Jake Abraham and Jason Flemyng keeps it lively, and music choices, including Madness and Sigue Sigue Sputnik, are novel and very English (could've done without Mussorgsky's way-overused "Night on Bald Mountain," though). But if you have any desire to see this movie, you really should go rent The Longest Yard instead. It's available on DVD, and the '70s hairdos alone are worth the rental price.