Another mission, another new wardrobe for independent secret agents, Charlie's Angels, who are enlisted to stop a nefarious plot to destroy the Witness Protection Programme. Armed only with jiggling breasts, wiggling bums and mega-watt smiles, they charge into the fray...
A sequel to a movie that few people liked that much in the first place? No good can come of it, you might think. And you'd be right. Like the original, Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle is a movie that should be an effortlessly entertaining tease. Packed with gorgeous girls, guns, great music - what could possibly go wrong? One word: McG.
A staggeringly awful director, incapable of maintaining a consistent tone from one scene to the next, the ex-music video hotshot seems to be labouring under the misapprehension that the first movie was a masterpiece. So here we get more of the same: lame double entendres, camerawork that would give Michael Bay a headache, a wilfully moronic narrative and outrageous sexism in the guise of revolutionary feminism.
There are some plus points. Liu and Diaz are always watchable, while some action sequences are so archly knowing that you briefly suspect McG might be making the ultimate blockbuster satire. Long story cut short: he isn't.
Citizen Kane for teenage boys. Still, it's better than the original.