Brea is also angry, so it looks like John’s plans to propose to her are gone with the wind. The foursome engage in a big argument where secrets come out and Malia gets angry. Be careful what you wish for, as the old adage goes. Darren is high and so infuriating that you almost wish someone would shoot him in the head. After an afternoon of getting freaky in the great outdoors, Brea and John are unexpectedly visited by Darren and his latest flame Malia ( Roselyn Sanchez). Before things get too violent, Detective Sally Marnes (an excruciatingly bad Missi Pyle) shows up at the gas station to break things up.īrea and John make it to their destination after a mildly thrilling chase scene thrown in specifically for the gearheads in the audience. The bikers make obnoxious, stereotypical comments about the awesome muscle car John has rebuilt from the frame up, which leads to John punching one of the bikers out. But before they can get to this fine piece of architecture porn, Brea and John must deal with some racist bikers led by Luke Goss.
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John’s sports agent friend, Darren ( Laz Alonzo) has given John full run of a swanky pad deep in the Northern California mountains. Brea has been fired from her job at the Sacramento Post, yet she doesn’t want this detail to ruin her romantic birthday weekend with John ( Omar Epps). I’ll come back to that phone in a minute. The phone in question is a satellite phone slipped into the bag of Brea (Paula Patton) while she’s in a gas station restroom. “Just give him the phone!” yelled an aggravated patron at my very sparsely attended screening. Then why must the viewer endure endless minutes of soap opera-style histrionics before anyone even mentions the subject? Why do we not get to know one single woman ensnared in the illegal ring? Why are the villains one-note hicksploitation caricatures? And why do the heroes make the types of horror movie mistakes that get people talking to the screen in frustration? Let’s suppose it really is trying to shine a serious light on human trafficking. Spoilers from here on in. Let’s give “Traffik” the benefit of the doubt for a moment. Then just before the end credits, “Traffik” tries to gaslight us into thinking we’ve seen a journalistic exposé. He also tosses forced drug injections and attempted rape into the mix, shooting these elements as if he were making the bottom half of a grindhouse double feature. There isn’t an honest moment in all 96 minutes of “Traffik.” Writer/director Deon Taylor’s camera leers at Paula Patton’s body, lingers on the tattered Daisy Duke shorts of a battered woman in distress and has one character call his girlfriend a whore for sleeping with another character. I once asked Roger what the deciding factor was in giving a film no stars, and he told me these were films he found “morally reprehensible.” That I didn’t find “Traffik” morally reprehensible probably says more about me than it does the movie, but at least I’m willing to be honest about enjoying a few moments of the film’s home invasion section. Watching this film, I was reminded of Roger’s reviews for “ Wolf Creek” and “ Chaos,” two films he gave no stars because he found them completely devoid of value.
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