(Aug 24)

Which is worse: Samuel L. Jackson's death screech as Mace Windu in Star Wars: Episode III or Samuel L. Jackson condescending to portray (in Resurrecting the Champ) a sniveling, defeatist, homeless boxer fending off drunken louts? I'll rephrase: Is there any end to Samuel L. Jackson's shame spiral? Or, better (worse?), do movie-watchers have more respect for Samuel L. Jackson than Samuel L. Jackson has for Samuel L. Jackson?

In what is perhaps the single most dispiriting exhibition to fans of Pulp Fiction, Dave Chappelle parodies, and, ahem, Snakes on a Plane, Jackson does not play anyone remotely cool—or even interesting—in Resurrecting the Champ. Instead, our onetime resident badass takes on the "serious" role of a former up-and-coming boxer on the dirty streets, rescued by struggling reporter Erik Kernan (Josh Hartnett).

Desperate to make a name for himself outside the shadow of his famous journo dad, Erik latches on to the has-been fighter in hopes of waging that timeless battle of Print vs. Web. Yeah, yeah I know—stick with me. See, newsrooms everywhere, as he explains to the Champ, are being forced to cut back and lay off reporters, and Erik needs a solid feature piece to convince his higher-ups that he's worth keeping around. (The voiceovers that read his writing suggest he's not.) Regrettably, Resurrecting the Champ won't revive anyone's career, not with the Champ's stock of well-worn catchphrases, not with Hartnett's bland facial emoting, and not with the vapid, predictable plot twist.

It's hard even to continue. With all due respect, Mr. Jackson, no one ever wants or needs to see you hobble around with a shopping cart with all your possessions before you're jumped by three young thugs and unable to kick their asses. Please learn your audience. Thanks.—Soo Oh