The Transporter

The first lesson is simplicity. The second involves the study of chaseology, carwise. The third carries a slogan: DON'T SMILE.

The transporter's name is Frank. He drives a foreign motor, well polished and capable of 100mph in the blink of a fish.

He takes trouble with his appearance; scruffy is not in his vocab. Vin Diesel would be told to change his T-shirt, if, by some quirk of a scriptwriter's imagination, they met.

He stays in the South of France and carries packages for rich clients. He's a courier, although would not admit to such a proletariat job description. He has an inflated opinion of his value to the professional classes.

He makes rules for himself. Rule 1: the deal is the deal. Rule 2: no names. Rule 3: don't open the package.

This time, he breaks rule 3, which is when the story begins. Inside the package is a girl (Shu Qi), who speaks English and looks Chinese. James Bond would have invited her into the front seat and suggested a light lunch of sea food and champagne. Frank hasn't learnt the art of seduction.

In the duff'em'n'rough'em dept, The Transporter has unconventional car etiquette, sex-on-hold, inventive fight sequences, a suitably psychotic bad person (Matt Schulze) and the standard supply of explosives.

It's better than mid-range Steven Seagal, but not as sharp as Jet Li on rollerblades. Jason Statham, ex-Olympic diver and Guy Ritchie aficionado (Lock Stock, etc), does a fit job of staying cool and not smiling. He has a V-shaped physique and should be a plastic toy.

The script, co-written by Luc Besson, concerns a container load of illegal immigrants and Frank's inability to keep his shirt on longer than Arnie in the early days.

Plot isn't everything; style matters, too. Statham makes a good start as a martial arts super star. He knows that stillness is more effective than rage. All he has to do now is ask 007 how to pull the birds.