I love Jason Statham. He’s one of the movies’ best faces of the last fifteen years. A kind of strange morphing of Bruce Willis and James Caan. That’s why he played Caan’s role in the Killer Elite remake and probably because he’s in Wild Card, the modern version of William Goldman’s Black Jack. The two times Oscar winner screenwriter gives a second chance in Vegas to Nick Wild, who still has a weakness for gambling and breaking bones for the right cause.
Thirty years ago, Burt Reynolds played the character, probably only because Robert Altman refused to direct because of a strange story about a Canadian visa for his cameraman. Nick Wild was the perfect role for James Caan, one of Altman’s favourites.
Funny anecdotes for movie nerds, but at the end of the day, what matters is that Mr Statham is not only the heir of the testosteronic icons of the ’80s. He also reminds the beautiful weak heroes of the ’70s. With the support of a good director, he would have been perfect alongside Gould, Sutherland, and George Segal.
With his physical presence and stone face, Statham can turn a bad movie into pleasant entertainment, which happens most of the time. Wild Card is directed with indolence by Simon West, and William Goldman’s script is not one of his best, but it’s a fun guilty pleasure with a couple of good action scenes and, well, five minutes of Stanley Tucci.
It probably is not enough for the ticket price, but there are worst things at the movies. Often.