Directed by Simon West, Con Air is the story of a U.S. Ranger named Cameron Poe (Nicolas Cage) who, jailed for the accidental killing of a punk threatening his wife, is being released on parole after serving his eight year sentence. Waiting for him to come home are his pinup-pretty wife and the daughter he’s never met.

Conveniently, the authorities book Poe on a return flight that happens to be stocked with the meanest, craziest, most lethal prisoners on the face of the planet. Led by Cyrus "The Virus" Grissom (John Malkovitch) and Nathan "Diamond Dog" Jones (Ving Rhames), the inmates manage to--surprise!--take the plane, leaving Poe, the only free man onboard, to save the day.

John Cusack

Sounds pretty slight, doesn’t it. Well, it is. Now, don’t get me wrong, I like a good, stupid action film as much as the next guy. Hell, I grew up on the crappy mid-eighties output of Arnold Schwarzenegger (remember Raw Deal and Red Heat?). But, despite all the explosions, gun fire and macho posturing, Con Air’s big problem is that it’s sort of, well, impotent.

There’s no urgency to anything. Cyrus’s big plan is to take the plane and get away to Mexico. So what? Why should the good guys on the ground, led by U.S. Marshall Vince Larkin (a slumming John Cusack) and D.E.A. Agent Duncan Malloy (Colm Meaney), give a shit? Why not follow the plane to Mexico, wait for it to land, and shoot them. In addition, Cyrus has no grand scheme, no devious plan to revenge himself upon the police: he just wants to escape. Sorry, but these days that just ain’t good enough.

Poe spends the entire film spouting witty one-liners, only bursting into action when his best friend Baby O (Mykelti Williamson) is shot in the gut. Sure, Cage looks the hero: he’s pumped up, long-haired and sweaty. And, as always, he brings something weird and unexpected to the card-file role of Cameron Poe. But the anemic script, by Scott Rosenberg, just leaves him high and dry; floundering around, waiting for something to happen.

Con Air was produced by Jerry Bruckheimer, the surviving half of the notorious Simpson/Bruckheimer partnership that brought us Beverly Hills Cop, Top Gun, and most recently, The Rock. Evidently, the late Don Simpson was the guy who thought that story was, while not the most important thing in their films, something to be paid attention to, while Bruckheimer just wanted to blow things up. So, with Con Air, Bruckheimer hired director West, who had no problem creating the requisite sound and fury, and in the process crafted a film that is only good for being carved into trailers and sound bites.

June 1997