Critic's Grade: D

Frank's film tip: John McTiernan needs to go back to BASIC training in his feeble attempts at trying to helm a competent military murder mystery with the lacking assistance of celebrated reunited PULP FICTION partners-in-crime John Travolta and Samuel L. Jackson

There's one thing you can say about filmmaker John McTiernan's washout military drama Basic in that it is aptly titled. Let's see how this logic fits, shall we? Just how "basic" is this needlessly stiff and recycled conspiracy thriller? Well, this fettered flick is indeed a step up from McTiernan's previous boisterous bomb in 2002's sci-fi stinker remake of Rollerball. And this military mishap is "basic"-ally a questionable improvement for this current film's star John Travolta who's been trotting out a string of unforgettable commercial flops lately: Domestic Disturbance, Lucky Numbers, Swordfish, Battlefield Earth and The General's Daughter--an even more sluggish and uninteresting arms-oriented offering than McTiernan's presently screened nauseating narrative.

Okay, Basic may not be the most derivatively insulting showcase to ever offend one's set of eye sockets and it certainly presents an artistic breath of fresh air over the recent combined cinematic efforts of both McTiernan and Travolta collectively. Still, this is not saying much in the grand scheme of things considered. When all is said and done, the prolonged saluting to shoddy and over-the-top acting, the blatant barrage of cliche-driven plot devices being bandied about, the dragging momentum tediously leading up to the lackluster mystery and the taunting element of reuniting popular Pulp Fiction protagonists Travolta and Samuel L. Jackson on the big screen together again after almost ten years since their Oscar-nominated stints as hampered hitmen are all one great bit tease designed to make this crime-ridden clunker look more compelling than it really is.

The premise involves Travolta's harried turn as disillusioned military investigator Tom Hardy reluctantly assigned to check out the head-scratching disappearance and follow-up deaths of a troop of men while partaking in a grueling training mission deep in the rainy Panamanian jungle. Hardy, we're briefed, is an ex-U.S. ranger and suspended DEA agent. Along for the intriguing ride is straight-laced and procedure-following crackerjack cutie Lt. Julia Osbourne (Connie Nielsen, The Hunted). As the base's resident investigating officer, by-the-book Osbourne is forced to solve this perplexing case with the unorthodox Hardy who's hindered by a sordid past. Essentially, Hardy's intensity and previous heartbreaks is supposed to make him the typical and ideal anti-hero that we root for as he eventually gains control of his demons through the redemptive rigors of unraveling everyone else's cozy cover up.

And thus the diligent duo of Hardy and Osbourne are on the move in an attempt to tap into a conspiracy for which those actively involved are trying desperately to cover their tracks. The investigators are relentless in their quest to hunt down the seedy facts. Unfortunately, we are forced to obviously go down the same misled twisty and uneventful trail along with the tenacious twosome and in doing so, we're as thrilled as watching bumper-to-bumper traffic methodically inch by on a congested highway. In obligatory fashion, the movie is abusively bombarded by a series of flashback sequences meant to inform the folks as to what this whole elaborate guessing game is all about. Of course, this is just one of the many stunts that McTiernan utilizes in the insufferable manner of manufacturing any dose of excitement to aid the otherwise stilted suspense.

The individual responsible for getting Hardy active into the thick of things is Chief Warrant Officer Wilmer (Timothy Daly), the plagued investigator's former boss who, in prototypical form, is the sole authority figurehead that definitely believes in his talented but tainted charge's abilities to come up with the elusive results. Anyway, Wilmer demands that Hardy interview the two surviving rangers in the persons of quick-tempered Dunbar (Brian Van Holt) and the maligned and openly gay Kendall (Giovanni Ribisi) in order to determine what happened leading up to the unpleasant events. The one missing link that everybody is questioning is the gruff existence of absent Drill Sgt. Nathan West (Samuel L. Jackson), the vulgar-mouthed officer whose duty was to oversee the operation down there in the soaking Central American wilderness. It goes without saying that West was an intolerable so-and-so nutcase that rubbed those who came in close contact with him the wrong way. Naturally, West was either capable of killing or being killed based upon his junkyard dog demeanor. So of course Hardy has the daunting task of finding out who may have silenced the blustery verbose and confrontational West not to mention the handful of the men that perished alongside with him.

There are many sources connected with the convoluted Basic that could easily assume the guilty role concerning their involvement with this cockeyed, turgid tale. Shamelessly, McTiernan takes this pitiful project and feels that he can dress up the affair by basing this mawkish military farce in a familiar territory of the unpredictable jungle surroundings that previously gave sensationalistic vibes in his yesteryear runaway box office action hit Predator. This downpour dud of a rainforest whodunnit could have taken place at the poolside of the Playboy mansion with brickhouse-built babes as extras to add to the drenched scenery and still McTiernan's cumbersome caper wouldn't be convincingly stimulating or exotic.

McTiernan's direction is bland and unimaginative because he solely relies on the gimmicky aspects of this watered-down thriller without once fortifying this misguided mystery with genuine forethought or any refreshing incentive. The immediate consensus is to aimlessly thrust a series of arbitrary tidbits into the mix and hope that the audience is either fooled or fascinated by this manipulative stunt. As for the aforementioned usage of flashback storytelling, this practice is becoming one of the most uninspired and predictable tools that filmmakers lean on when they're desperate enough to try and entice and enhance their descending expositions.

Writer James Vanderbuilt (who incidentally penned the unintentionally hilarious yet atrocious Darkness Falls) has his distinctive preposterous ink stains on this stultifying story as well. In truth, there's enough blame to go around for why this festering fable exists from the clueless high-priced actors engaging in the "going-through-the-motions" schlep work to the lowly light technician trying to bring some figurative and literal brightness to the fruitless festivities.

There's a peculiar consistency as to why Travolta gravitates to subpar movie material that constantly adds to the unflattering cinematic resume he's compiled up so shockingly since his "film resurgence" shortly after his post Pulp Fiction heyday in the mid-nineties. And speaking about Pulp Fiction, moviegoers who are expecting the anticipated re-teaming and charismatic flowing chemistry of Travolta and Jackson in their "Vincent and Jules" repartee mode will sadly be disappointed as the tandem don't get a snowball's chance in the Sahara Desert to recreate that kind of on screen exuberance and mischievousness that resonated so effortlessly back when they were humorously discussing hamburgers in France and other enlightening epiphanies amongst the bullet-bouncing mayhem that revived both their staggering careers roughly a decade ago.

If anything, Basic systematically provides a fragile forum for its lead stars to strut around in an embarrassingly routine rut. With the exception of being much leaner and hokier in the overdramatic department, Travolta practically reprises his laughable one-note role from The General's Daughter as a crusading has-been military hack stammering away while over-enunciating his words in the showy attempt to act incensed and invigorating as he furiously fishes for the truth and the inevitable justice it'll bring to the table. That kind of braggadocio is too much to take in serious strides and it looks so silly emerging from Travolta's stagy but transparent performance. Co-star and Pulp partner Jackson doesn't fare any better. In fact, Jackson makes Travolta's unnecessary ranting and raving seem understated by comparison. As the bombastic and intimidating Drill Sgt. West, Jackson pretty much rehashes his same old monotonous and animated trademark of a cussing and carrying-on badass that has helped endear him to countless film fans as a menacing favorite in movie role after movie role. And poor Nielsen gets lost in the shuffle in a thankless sidekick role that has her playing a tough and intelligent high-ranking independent career woman but within only the limited and meaningless time she's allotted to make her Lt. Julia Osbourne worth noticing next to Travolta's ridiculously scene-stealing antics.

Basic shouldn't waste its time solving the murderous merry-go-round it awkwardly parades around in its plodding plotline. If anything, it ought to address the criminal acts of its so-called entertaining credo by leaving us with a sorrowful display of cheesy acting, distractingly pasty editing, indistinguishable grainy cinematography, pseudo-shocking climatic scenes with no apparent pulse behind them and baseless, mundane direction. If any excessive and repetitive spotty military drama is in need of an instant court martial proceeding, then this lumbering and clumsy account needs to be taking into serious consideration.

Frank rates this film: * and a half stars (out of 4 stars)

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