S.W.A.T.

Review By: Tom Johnson

S.W.A.T., the summer’s last big action-fest, is all about unrealized potential. Don’t get me wrong, it’s perfectly enjoyable. But the full experience just lacks the sort of punch you’d expect from an end-of-summer blockbuster featuring such a high-quality cast. Sadly, each performer, like the majority of the film’s plot points, is largely neglected. While there’s never a dull moment in “S.W.A.T.”, there aren’t many exciting ones either.

The film starts off promising enough, displaying an actual plot, complete with actual characters, certainly a plus. After a costly error, Jim Street (Colin Farrell) and his partner, the ironically named Gamble (Jeremy Renner of “Angel”, a show I hear is pretty decent) are taken off of S.W.A.T. and separated. While Gamble stomps away, Street accepts the hand he’s been dealt, and pays his dues, eventually working his way into Lt. Hondo (Samuel L. Jackson)’s good graces. He gets the chance to go back when Hondo is assigned to craft a hot new team made from the L.A.P.D.’s youngest and most able. Filling out the team is Sanchez (Michelle Rodriguez), Deke (L.L. Cool J.), McCabe (Josh Charles) and Boxer (Brian Van Holt). All the training that the new squad endures can’t prepare them for their first big mission, and all Hell inevitably breaks loose for our heroes as they face the disgruntled Gamble’s ire. Well, not that much Hell, actually. Despite an hour and a half of satisfactory build-up, the film’s only true action sequence is hardly a proper pay-off, ending before it seems to begin.

The lone plot swerve eventually thrown into the mix is predictable, to say the least, and isn’t really given much room to grow once the seeds have been planted. The film doesn’t really know what to do with it. Likewise, most of “S.W.A.T.”’s best elements go completely untapped, the stellar cast in particular. Farrell, known to carry entire movies on his back, isn’t on top of his game here, but still deserves more than what he’s given. Michelle Rodriguez, possibly the hottest yet most believable ass-kicker in film today, also gets scraps to work with. While producer Neil H. Moritz expertly used her sexy, “I smell….skanks” growl as a vital secret weapon in the otherwise hammy “Fast and the Furious”, he fails to utilize her here. Even Samuel L. Jackson, the baddest man on the planet, gets reduced to the cardboard clone of himself usually reserved for flat “Star Wars” prequels. All of these problems are hardly the fault of the talented actors, but of a visibly confused director (Clark Johnson, in his first film effort).

On the upside,