When I started this little project as a lark, I had no idea it would be so...awful. And now, per Brent's own review of the same film, I have brought innocents into the line of fire like I was some sort of rogue FBI agent. Or some other trite-assed movie standby. Like the hero of our movie here, A Man Apart!

Now, I do enjoy a bad movie now and again. Just not terrible ones. A bad movie lightly insults your intelligence, not unlike a close friend calling you a 'magnificent bastard' is an insult. Sure, it's a bit of a light slap in the face but not one to cause overmuch discomfort, or displeasure. But where a movie like Deep Blue Sea is the figurative slap in the face, A Man Apart is more of a heaping cup of warm, slimy, vaguely-mint flavored tobacco spit to the face.

I say mint flavored, as there is a minor silver lining in this mess of a movie: there is a lot of violence, and there are strippers. And let’s face it: the bar has been set pretty low on this one.

So the main problem of course, is the man himself. Vin Diesel. Mumbly, wooden Vin Diesel. At times bearded, other times goateed, sometimes barking angry statements…all with the same unclear and imprecise delivery of a guy with his mouth full of walnuts.

His character is that of a former gang-banger turned top DEA undercover agent, something which I believe to be fucking impossible. It’s hard enough to believe that the DEA would train and arm former violent criminal in the first place, let along give him the authority to extradite criminals from foreign locales. Yet somehow, the crusty old codger who seems to be in a position of power in the DEA has done so, amazingly without the benefit of a first name. At least, one I could discern. Not that he matters, he’s there to play two roles: the kindly old boss, and eventually the sadly disapproving boss. He’ll go far in this Hollywood business; I look forward to his role as ‘Doorman’ in an upcoming episode of Law and Order: CSI.

Case in point is a laughably unconvincing drug buy that Vin is taking part of. Let me set the scene: after arranging the deal with a man who looks like the scummier lovechild of Eric Roberts and Tommy Lee, Vin is scanned with a portable metal detector by a shady individual in a cowboy hat. “Just making sure you’re not wired,’ is Sketchy Hat’s explanation. Quick on his feet, Vin whips out his cell phone, flips it open, and proceeds to run it over Sketchy Hat Guy. Master of the witty riposte, Vin replies “Just making sure you ain’t a cop,” as he runs his obvious Nokia over the man’s body. I was surprised that he didn’t make little beepy noises as he did it. Yet somehow, this ludicrousness is grudgingly accepted by Sketchy Hat, and the deal continues on.

Clever! More proof that he’s unsuited for this line of work comes when Sketchy Hat reveals that he was behind the attempted murder of VIN, and the successful murder of VIN’s boring, cannon fodder wife. Actual Mamet-esque dialogue: “You heard about how we shot that cop’s stupid bitch wife.” “Oh, when you shot that cop’s stupid bitch wife?” “Yeah, we shot that cop’s stupid bitch wife.” So like any cool customer, Vin then beats Sketchy Hat to death with his bare hands. Clearly, some bugs still need to be worked out in the ‘criminals-> DEA agent program.

And of course, this violent beating (at least it was a really violent beating, the violence made up for some of the terribleness of the film as a whole) queers the deal which then leads to the most confusing gunfight in movie history. See, Vin brought backup…but so did Sketchy Hat. In fact, Sketchy Hat brought a guy dressed like a cop (with a gigantic neck tattoo that just screamed ‘hey! I’m not a real cop!’) to…get shot in the back by Larenz Tate, playing Vin Diesel’s partner. He excels at saying ‘damn!’ a lot. Really brought that dialogue to life, there dude. Then the other undercover DEA guys bust out the machine guns, and then Sketchy Hat’s undercover bangers bust out THEIR machine guns and a whole lot of gunplay breaks out. Which I’d have enjoyed more had I the slightest idea who was shooting who. Thankfully it eventually boils down to the characters with actual names (tho I cannot accurately recall them, and will just call them Vin and Larenz) versus the anonymous gangsters. Cars blow up. The gangsters all die. The deal is soured. I am very much confused.

Shit, if you’re going to be a bad movie: FINE. Suck out loud! All I ask is that you are somehow entertaining, and not confusing. And somehow, a movie as stone fucking dumb as A Man Apart manages to confuse the hell out of me. Groovy.

The worst part of watching this was not the incredibly unbelievable antics of Vin DEAsel. No, it was in fact having to watch him try to act all romantic and tragic regarding his dead wife. Happy Diesel! Sad Diesel. Wah!

Happy Diesel likes to have barbecues at his beach house with his partner, family, superiors in the DEA, and active crime figures. They engage in light (bad) banter, and miller light in the clear bottle. Vin and his forgettable wife engage in salsa dancing at sunset, and shared clothing. They’re fucking boring, which is the greatest sin of Happy Diesel.

Sad Diesel though, is nigh-unbearable. She dies after maybe ten minutes of trying to be endearing, and her death pushes Vin over the edge. When she lived he was clean shaven, yet he now grows a beard, then shaves to a goatee. Which is a lot like the ‘Evil Spock’ thing, where new facial hair equals a different character. He leaves the police tape up over his broken windows. He does not fix the broken windows, preferring instead to let sand and beach debris blow into the ruins of his life. He sits on the beach and morosely stares into the ocean smoking cigarettes and drinking. Only he’s smoking Marlboro lights and drinking airplane-sized bottles of booze. Like a pussy. Johnny Cash spits on your grief from the grave, Beard Diesel! Whiskey and unfiltereds, pussy.

Doesn’t sound that bad, eh? Sounds like a portrayal of a man in grief, eh? Fuck that. Well check this: when he wakes up in the hospital after his bullet wound-induced coma or nap (oddly his beard is full but his head is still perfectly shaven) he thrashes about in his bed, unable to accept that his wife is dead. Irrationally he tries to escape from his bed, where his partner Larenz Tate struggles to keep him in place. Tate also struggles to find as many ways to say ‘damn!’ in an exasperated tone, but that’s the rest of the movie. So he takes Vin to his wife’s grave at night, where Vin goes to her grave…then he goes back to work.

My friends, this is an affront to Film. In crappy movies like this where the hero’s wife/partner/son/dog is killed unfairly, the graveside scene traditionally includes a heartfelt cry to the heaves. Be it a “WHYYYYY?!” or a “NOOOOO!” one demands the mournful cry to the heavens. And we were denied. Denied! I didn’t ask for much out of this catbox of a movie, but dammit I demand that you give me the clichés that I need to deem this movie ‘laughably bad!’ Without it, I have nothing.

And that’s where I am. I got nothing left. I could talk about the evil guy with the tattooed eyebrows that will haunt my dreams forevermore, I could talk about Tim “dude from Deadwood” Olyphant’s turn as the duckweed tanning salon manager by day/drug overboss by night. I could talk about the lunacy behind the DEA’s decision to put their ex-gangbanger/top undercover agent on psych leave AFTER he fucks up the drug deal in spectacular fashion, or perhaps how the Top Evil Drug Boss killed off his entire damned family to get Vin to trust him when he clearly could have made something up; seeing as Vin didn’t do much in the way of fact-checking.

But I’m spent. It’s a shitty movie, you didn’t need me to tell you that, and I regret every having taken on this project. But I shall endure!

Discuss the suffering here!