By the time Taxi 3 will, for whatever reason, roll onto your screens right before your eyes, after having seen the first two in this laborious French franchise, you'll only be as tired of it as those playing the lead roles look of their characters. The film is a limp; dull; daft; repetitive; plodding piece, a wondering, staggering film dragging its content along like a Neanderthal from many-a century ago might drag its knuckles along as it journeyed from A to B. Thin on plot and character but high on spectacle; moping and chasing, the series takes a turn at stage three to less-so resemble a Ferrari and more-so begin to dramatically resemble a beaten up 80s Lada. Like a Rickshaw driver at the end of a very busy day, this series has officially stretched its premise and wholly run out of puff; and I wouldn't be so sour about things if it'd brought about better products out of Luc Besson's Europacorp company in recent years. Sadly, the pay-cheque (and that's all Taxi 3 is) clearly went on to fund other ventures Besson has had a finger in developing since, such as the Transporter series and the Banal Banlieue 13 franchise.
The film actually beings with a mock-James Bond opening sequence, in which action man Sly Stallone is chased by a bunch of Xtreme-Sports bad guys before bumping into Daniel's (Naceri) taxi and speeding off, out running a train in the process of dodging the enemy. Cue mock-Bond title sequence, and you think to yourself that they've realised just how stupid; just how poor; just how nonsensical the franchise is in its action infused attitudes to itself that it's had to go down this route of self reflexivity. Later on, the film will fall back on similarly constructed idiot action sequences for sake of dramatic involvement, thus completely undermining its own point - if there was even one there initially.
Leads Samy Naceri and Frédéric Diefenthal look bored with their task of playing Daniel, the cab driver come good, and incompetent French copper Émilien. They look fed up, as if they didn't want to be there, as if the film was contractually bound to their starring in the first two and thus, their presence in the third film was compulsory. The two share no chemistry, as if the second time was enough time spent together doing this and now that we're onto the third outing, half the effort will suffice. One sits here and says these are the leads, the film actually centres in on Émilien and his new state of marriage with Emma Wiklund's Petra for the best part of the opening forty minutes; all the while sidelining Daniel for Émilien. Where's the star? Where's the hero from the first two? Where, with his razor wit and casual destruction of the highway code for sake of schlock laughs, is the reason these films were even popular in the first place? Where's Daniel? When he does make himself known, he's bickering with girlfriend Lilly (Cotillard, whom by this point the series needed more than she needed it following the opposite) over his obsession with his taxi and later putting pregnancy tests in his mouth.
Daniel's sidelining and Émilien's subsequent promotion sees the roles reversed from the first two, in that one is now very much in a relationship and now apparently takes the reigns for driving the film with the other single and now sidelined as a goofy supporting act. The loose plot is the same bilge recycled from the first two. These Taxi films aren't about story or narrative, they're about a bunch of thieves whom just happened to be in town; go around robbing places and/or kidnapping people and then instigate hijinks from the police officers whom call on the assistance of the aforementioned Daniel. Here, a bunch of Chinese villains take on the role of the faceless, anonymous, foreign bad guys; filling in for the Germans and the Japanese whom were both past occupants of said role. Their plan is hatched when mysterious journalist Qui (Ling Bai) turns up at the police station Émilien and the reoccurring chief character Gibert (Farcy) head operations. The thread-bear plotting is best highlighted in that if the police ever at all checked for I.D. at any point in the film, we wouldn't really have a film.
The gang disguise themselves as Santas during this Christmas period at which the film is set, an early attempt at supposedly apprehending one of these Santas in a public shopping area resulting in one of many of the film's jokes being set up and executed with an almighty clunk as we correctly predict the Santa is not, in fact, one of the robbers and, in fact, is a part of the mall's festive attractions. One thing will lead to another after a drawn out hour or so of the dull leads and their boring respective marital situations, culminating in a sequence in which one of them is tied to a chair as a red digital readout ticks down to his supposed demise. Besson and his French/Polish directorial stooge Gérard Krawczyk know they cannot lump for another road chase to round things off, so everybody tanks off to the Swiss Alps for variation set on snow and ice, and yes, somebody does indeed go through the ice in the tamest of slapstick fashions. I've no problem with chase sequences or car chase sequences, but the spectacle of them alone is not enough to invest emotion in; we need to give a damn about those involved. Like upon hearing of a new film Besson had a hand in scripting, it's just difficult to care anymore.
The film actually beings with a mock-James Bond opening sequence, in which action man Sly Stallone is chased by a bunch of Xtreme-Sports bad guys before bumping into Daniel's (Naceri) taxi and speeding off, out running a train in the process of dodging the enemy. Cue mock-Bond title sequence, and you think to yourself that they've realised just how stupid; just how poor; just how nonsensical the franchise is in its action infused attitudes to itself that it's had to go down this route of self reflexivity. Later on, the film will fall back on similarly constructed idiot action sequences for sake of dramatic involvement, thus completely undermining its own point - if there was even one there initially.
Leads Samy Naceri and Frédéric Diefenthal look bored with their task of playing Daniel, the cab driver come good, and incompetent French copper Émilien. They look fed up, as if they didn't want to be there, as if the film was contractually bound to their starring in the first two and thus, their presence in the third film was compulsory. The two share no chemistry, as if the second time was enough time spent together doing this and now that we're onto the third outing, half the effort will suffice. One sits here and says these are the leads, the film actually centres in on Émilien and his new state of marriage with Emma Wiklund's Petra for the best part of the opening forty minutes; all the while sidelining Daniel for Émilien. Where's the star? Where's the hero from the first two? Where, with his razor wit and casual destruction of the highway code for sake of schlock laughs, is the reason these films were even popular in the first place? Where's Daniel? When he does make himself known, he's bickering with girlfriend Lilly (Cotillard, whom by this point the series needed more than she needed it following the opposite) over his obsession with his taxi and later putting pregnancy tests in his mouth.
Daniel's sidelining and Émilien's subsequent promotion sees the roles reversed from the first two, in that one is now very much in a relationship and now apparently takes the reigns for driving the film with the other single and now sidelined as a goofy supporting act. The loose plot is the same bilge recycled from the first two. These Taxi films aren't about story or narrative, they're about a bunch of thieves whom just happened to be in town; go around robbing places and/or kidnapping people and then instigate hijinks from the police officers whom call on the assistance of the aforementioned Daniel. Here, a bunch of Chinese villains take on the role of the faceless, anonymous, foreign bad guys; filling in for the Germans and the Japanese whom were both past occupants of said role. Their plan is hatched when mysterious journalist Qui (Ling Bai) turns up at the police station Émilien and the reoccurring chief character Gibert (Farcy) head operations. The thread-bear plotting is best highlighted in that if the police ever at all checked for I.D. at any point in the film, we wouldn't really have a film.
The gang disguise themselves as Santas during this Christmas period at which the film is set, an early attempt at supposedly apprehending one of these Santas in a public shopping area resulting in one of many of the film's jokes being set up and executed with an almighty clunk as we correctly predict the Santa is not, in fact, one of the robbers and, in fact, is a part of the mall's festive attractions. One thing will lead to another after a drawn out hour or so of the dull leads and their boring respective marital situations, culminating in a sequence in which one of them is tied to a chair as a red digital readout ticks down to his supposed demise. Besson and his French/Polish directorial stooge Gérard Krawczyk know they cannot lump for another road chase to round things off, so everybody tanks off to the Swiss Alps for variation set on snow and ice, and yes, somebody does indeed go through the ice in the tamest of slapstick fashions. I've no problem with chase sequences or car chase sequences, but the spectacle of them alone is not enough to invest emotion in; we need to give a damn about those involved. Like upon hearing of a new film Besson had a hand in scripting, it's just difficult to care anymore.