The end credits were staggering; Traffik got to the story-finish fork in the road and went the statistics route ahead of the “where are they now?” route. I cannot remember the precise numbers the film illuminated, so I looked them up: between 14,500 and 17,500 humans are trafficked into the United States each year. It’s the third largest international crime industry, but with some work and a common-sense drug policy, maybe it can get to #2. Oh well, not with Jeff Sessions in charge of anything; that guy would ban ketchup if you called it a drug. I digress.
Brea (Paula Patton) and John (Omar Epps) are a couple on the brink of engagement. For somebody who ain’t exactly 16 & pregnant, Brea is awfully reluctant to take the plunge. Wait. Am I gonna make fun of somebody for putting extra thought into a lifelong decision? No. No, I am not. John, a mechanic, has rebuilt a muscle car as a birthday gift for his would-be fiancée. And it doesn’t stop there; he also has a mountain getaway planned where he hopes to present Brea with an engagement ring as well. Oh, if only this were a rom-com. Of course, if it were, she might end up with Kevin Hart before it’s over.
At the mountain’s luxurious gas ‘n’ crap center, Brea happily plays the smitten fool until encountering a woman in the restroom who is, shall we say, having a bad life, exemplified by the large biker dude willing to bust in on the women’s room for a good browbeat. Meanwhile, John is busy being accosted by the other bikers hanging out at the gas ‘n’ crap.
Uh oh. This has become the kind of film where I beg the silver screen gods: “Please please please don’t make every white person in the film a racist dick. Pleeeeeeeeease.” I know that you’re letting black people vacation in the mountains; I know these are white dominated areas filled with racist Trump-voting jerks, but I’d just love it if not every single white person in the film were depicted that way, y’know? What’s that? The local sheriff is Missi Pyle or Elaine Hendrix (I still can’t tell them apart)? Super. Don’t get me started.
Of course, I can hear the echo of African-Americans with similar pleas all through the blaxploitation era of filmdom. *sigh* Fair is fair, I guess.
Suffice to say, the browbeaten woman is literally someone’s property, and we’re not done with the Brea connection there by a long shot. Can Brea use her mad reporter s
killz to foil human trafficking, or will she become part of the tar pit? Traffik is a film that suffers a great deal from third-choice acting. Paula Patton is lovely, and if I have a role that requires an actress to look pleasantly surprised after receiving an anonymous gift, well, she’s my first call. I would have preferred to see the same script with Taraji P. Hensen or Gabrielle Union, two better actresses hindered by lousy recent choices – this film had a little more going for it than Acrimony, Proud Mary, or Sleepless.
Traffik is another in a long line of stupid choice action films. Cast members who don’t make stupid choices stand a much better chance at life, but movies always suffer for it. Few common sense sequences are half as exciting as, “For God sakes, man, don’t go there!” Traffik will prove mildly entertaining for a willing audience and may even highlight an international crime problem for some, but I’m reluctant to wave Traffik on thru without a good inspection; I’ll start with the title.
While not the worst film I’ve ever seen
It varied from robust to lean
I’d just like to tap
Up my cell phone app
To tell me when Traffik ain’t green
Rated R, 96 Minutes
Director: Deon Taylor
Writer: Deon Taylor
Genre: Spoiled vacations
Type of being most likely to enjoy this film: Action hounds
Type of being least likely to enjoy this film: Rednecks
