While it's cooking, though, it's violently preposterous fun. Statham, who rose out of the British gangster-movie scene to star in the slam-bam ``Transporter" series, suggests Woody Harrelson's feral brother with less hair and a dash more brains. His character here is saddled with a profoundly stupid name -- Chev Chelios -- and a big problem: He wakes one smoggy L A morning to discover he's been dosed by gangster Ricky Verona (Jose Pablo Cantillo) in retaliation for a job done too well. (Don't ask, it's not worth explaining.)
A quick call to his personal Dr. Feelgood (Dwight Yoakam ) leads to Chev's mission: somehow keep pumped up while chasing down the bad guys. The accelerants are many and varied, and they include over-the-counter nasal spray, under-the-counter epinephrine, cocaine snorted off a bathroom floor, and many, many cans of Red Bull. When in doubt, the hero puts his hand in a waffle iron.
This is deeply silly stuff, and the writing-directing team of Mark Neveldine and Brian Taylor knows to play it mean, fast, and funny. With his British growl and bulldog stance, Statham seems like a man having a particularly trying day at the office -- one that involves hijacking an EMT gurney or stealing an LAPD motorcycle while dressed in a hospital gown.
The fringes of the movie, however, consist of standard bullets-and-babes cliches, and eventually they move in for the kill. The few women in ``Crank" are merely hood ornaments and, sadly, that includes Amy Smart as Chev's girlfriend, Eve, who until recently thought he was a videogame programmer.
Smart does what she can to make the character a charming ditz, but by the time Eve's having public sex with Chev on a crowded Chinatown sidewalk, believability has been tossed out the window. The final 20 minutes of ``Crank" are bloody and routine, and the trashy high spirits turn smug. Lost in the fray is a fun little turn as Chev's transvestite friend by Efren Ramirez, better known as Pedro in ``Napoleon Dynamite."
What dynamite is here goes off early. ``Crank" works overtime to keep the metabolism juiced, with manic editing and a smart soundtrack that moves from full-on punk to Harry Nilsson's ``Everybody's Talking." Only action diehards will make it to the final credits satisfied, though. Me, I need a nap.
Ty Burr can be reached at tburr@globe.com.
