starring Cameron Diaz, Drew Barrymore, Lucy Liu, Demi Moore
screenplay by John August and Cormac Wibberley & Marianne Wibberley
directed by McG
by Walter Chaw Even its subtitle an onanistic entendre, McG's excrescent Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle takes self-awareness to the level of pornography in what boils down to one of the most queasily interesting train-wrecks in recent memory. It leaves the joyful goofiness of the first film in the dust of the "wanton slut" school of feminism, uncomfortable innuendo (incest just isn't all that funny), and a parade of star cameos that would have derailed the film were it not already a mere series of references to other films. What the picture represents, in a very real way, is the death of cinema, swallowed whole by the same instinct that drives television: strobe cuts, shallow titillation, barely subsumed fetishism, gleeful stupidity... all fuelled entirely by a knowledge of medium. The picture doesn't have any sort of meaning outside of the cinematic--it's essentially a warm spasm of pop cultural goop, an extended succession of money shots with none of that distracting filler (plot, character, tension, purpose) that weighs down pictures exhibiting some measure of non-commercial ambition.