Monk's tale

Bulletproof Monk is worse than even I could make it sound; so I won't even try. Every other scene is a senseless, chaotic fight between goons commanded by a resurrected Nazi (Karel Roden) who got as far as Tibet in the war, and a tubby monk possessing a scroll that endows the owner with eternal life.

By the well-padded look of Yun-Fat Chow (for it is he), it must have doubled as a recipe for noodle soup. Confucius, he says - next-inline for everlasting blessing - is an unwashed young American pickpocket (Seann William Scott).

The action is all over the city (New York, or somewhere equally comic-strip: who cares?) yet goes absolutely nowhere and gives no rest to folks jerked head over heels on Matrix-style "wires", or beating hell out of each other with Baghdad-force explosions.

Victoria Smurfit pops up surprisingly among this chop-socky lot as a neo-Nazi, but then any lady with a Kensington accent is Hollywood's idea of a natural villainess.

For further enlightenment, apply to a child of five (provided he or she isn't already too mature). One of the pathetic aspects of my job is having to sit through piles of swill like this, then make it read entertainingly. It defeats me this time. Just call it critic-proof, too.

Bulletproof Monk
Cert: cert12A