The Bounty Hunter, review

By Sukhdev Sandhu 446PM GMT eighteen March 2010

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Death, taxes, Gerard Butler. Wish them afar all you similar to still they succeed us. Actually, Butler, similar to a mutant pathogen that conjunction complicated disinfectant nor regretful request can eradicate, is worse than taxation; Id happily compensate an annual tithe banning him from being authorised anywhere nearby a cinema. He shows up again in The Bounty Hunter - not, as would have been preferable, a Bourne-like fool around about a coconut-filled chocolate recurrent - but a difficult and foredoomed try to remonstrate receptive human beings that he has what it takes to fool around a regretful lead.

The plot, of the kind that is less expected to have been created on the behind of a cigarette parcel as on the cigarette itself, is elementary Milo Boyd (Butler) is a annuity hunter who has been asked to lane down his ex-wife Nicole (Jennifer Aniston). The irony! Oh, the irony! Yes - oh yes, oh draining yes - the irony! What do you think? - Will the contention integrate who hatred each other, and who are forced to complete umpteen variations of "I cant hold I was ever tied together to you" at unchanging intervals, confirm at a little point that, funnily enough, they do love each other? What do you think are the chances of one of them asking "How mostly do people get second chances?"

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Director Andy Tennant and Sarah Thorp have been untiring in their efforts to bar no clich from what competence be called the opposites-attract-romantic-comedy-thriller-whatever genre. There are shots of the characters in shackles written to give gossip-weekly readers titillatory glee. There are car chases choreographed with all fast-and-furious hue and cry of the annual London-to- Brighton rally. There is a soundtrack of lumpy rock, hip bound and Auto-tuned R&B that creates less clarity than an i-Pod on pointless shuffle.

Aniston, personification an inquisitive contributor whos stumbled on a box involving focussed cops, is diversion and proud and always. Butler is not he has dead-fish eyes and delivers his lines with all the animation of a septuagenarian janitor still recuperating from a tracheotomy. His impression is meant to be impatient - chomping and drooling and gurning - but underneath the flinty extraneous is additionally meant to slink a diamond-hearted softie. As regularly with Butler theres usually passed space. He has the essence of a forlorn selling mall.

And The Bounty Hunter? As a romance, it has all the hiss of a leftover kebab. As a thriller, it thrills not. But as a comedy, itll have you laugh. At it.