I really wanted to like this film. Here's a commercially-aimed buddy flick that's not afraid to be Canadian (gasp!) Colm Feore is dependable as always, and Patrick Huard does a nice job as a gruff Quebecois cop who lives in the flat above his ex-wife - so he can continue to be an involved, caring dad to their precocious daughter. The film is entertaining in spots, but suffers badly from not knowing exactly what it is. It begins as a gritty cop drama as evidenced by the opening torture scene that results in a body ending up on the Quebec-Ontario border -- hence the unlikely pairing of an Ontario cop with a detective from Montreal. But it weaves back and forth between solid action sequences and a host of off-kilter (and regrettably not very funny) comedic segments that are mostly lame and predictable. For example, when a marijuana grow-op explodes into flames, our two heroes end up stoned and can't stop giggling in front of the police Captain. Yeah, yeah, I know. It's about as funny as it sounds. Add a case of the munchies and an uncooperative vending machine and...well, you can see where this is going.
The film takes a rather unsettling turn toward broad parody when it introduces Harry Buttman as the conniving Commissioner of a fictitious professional hockey league with a penchant for moving Canadian hockey teams to American markets. Buttman is a mini-lookalike of Gary Bettman, the Commissioner of the NHL. Buttman, Bettman. Get it?? Golly, I can hardly stop from slapping my thigh either. Even the killer's motive (which I won't reveal here) borders on being so ludicrous it threatens to sink the otherwise solid dramatic elements of the story.
What gets lost in this mishmash of styles is a potentially pleasing film that, given the appeal of the main characters, could succeed, SHOULD succeed if only it knew what it was trying to say.
The film takes a rather unsettling turn toward broad parody when it introduces Harry Buttman as the conniving Commissioner of a fictitious professional hockey league with a penchant for moving Canadian hockey teams to American markets. Buttman is a mini-lookalike of Gary Bettman, the Commissioner of the NHL. Buttman, Bettman. Get it?? Golly, I can hardly stop from slapping my thigh either. Even the killer's motive (which I won't reveal here) borders on being so ludicrous it threatens to sink the otherwise solid dramatic elements of the story.
What gets lost in this mishmash of styles is a potentially pleasing film that, given the appeal of the main characters, could succeed, SHOULD succeed if only it knew what it was trying to say.