1 September 2015 | LloydBayer
Refueled is the type of garbage that not even a hungry hobo would risk touching.
One man's trash, another man's treasure and all that, scavengers rummaging through garbage are always optimistic about finding something of value. Not here. Before I begin to hack this film to pieces (to find anything of value of course), let's start with an old school adage – Point blame at someone and there's always three fingers pointing back at you. In relating that saying to this fourth installment of The Transporter franchise, as long as cinema goers are dumb enough to pay hard earned money to watch just about anything, then absolute junk will be recycled over and over again. For The Transporter Refueled, that's just the outer layer of decomposition.
With none of the cast and crew from the previous films, Refueled runs on fumes even before it goes into first gear. Replacing Jason Statham as the titular protagonist, Ed Skrein's Frank Martin often says "buckle up". Problem is, the film doesn't budge past the first gear and neither does the Audi A8 that replaces the BMW 7-series, the Mercedes S-class or the Lamborghini Murciélago from the previous films. Very early in the film, the Audi does a cool trick until it immediately dawns on you that a Pontiac Trans Am called "Kitt" did this trick over thirty years ago. And while the previous films were an exhibition of brawn over brain, this pathetic excuse of an action film has neither, nor does it seem to care. Somewhere between an elaborate plan where prostitutes revolt against their pimps, the so called action consists of hand-to-hand combat and three car chases. Blink and you'll miss the third chase – Martin on a jetski versus the villain in a Mercedes G-class
on land! Equally cringe worthy is the father-son bonding (Ray Stevens as Martin's dad) which is as effective as securing a square peg in a round hole. Dig deeper and you'll find that Refueled is not only poorly scripted, acted and directed to such an appalling extent, it's very making is a blatant insult to anyone paying to watch this film. But if you do watch this garbage, don't say I didn't warn you.
If you can sit through it, the stench of vomit lasts about 90 minutes. Unfortunately, cinemas don't come with barf bags like airplanes do, so passing your popcorn bucket to the next person is the only way viewers can relieve themselves of nausea. On the positive side, it must be noted that there's hope for film school rejects. If anything, Refueled is a classic example that any Tom, Dick and Harriet can make a movie. I can just imagine the hiring notice for the fifth film - Apply within, no skill required.