From the director of Con Air and Lara Croft:Tomb Raider Jason Statham is Arthur Bishop - The Mechanic - an elite assassin with a unique talent for eliminating targets with deadly skill and total emotional detachment. But when the Agency double cross him and his mentor and friend Harry (Donald Sutherland) is killed, Bishop enlists Harry's son (Ben Foster) on a mission to avenge his death. As tensions rise and deceptions surface those sent to fix the problem soon become the problem themselves in this explosive, high-octane thrill ride. The 1972 version of The Mechanic is a tough-minded action film that reflects its disillusioned era. While no masterpiece, it does get points for the retro-coolness of prime-era Charles Bronson, cast as an ice-cold hit man who begins teaching the tricks of the trade to a young apprentice. So the prospect of a 2011 remake isn't especially sacrilegious, and handing the central role to 21st-century tough guy Jason Statham is a logical choice; Statham's got the moves, the voice, and the three-day stubble necessary for the role. In some fairly significant ways, though, the remake backs away from the hardness of the original and settles for a less daring approach. Director Simon West (Con Air) manages to make even New Orleans locations seem monotonous, as he covers everything in a baked-butterscotch glaze and surrounds his antihero with the sleekest, most boring kind of modern hardware (the old skool LP turntable is a nice exception). Statham stays in his locked-down key throughout, while, as his student, Ben Foster--somewhat less jittery here than in the likes of 3:10 to Yuma or Alpha Dog--strides into one reckless situation after another. Playing peripheral roles as members of the hit man's shadowy network, Donald Sutherland and Tony Goldwyn successfully read their lines. The actual targets of the hits are creepy enough so that we aren't unduly troubled by Statham's line of work, and the ending falls far short of the memorable original. A take-no-prisoners approach to violence makes this seem even more like an empty exercise. --Robert Horton