Luc Besson directs Bruce Willis, Milla Jovovich and Gary Oldman in the sci-fi extravaganza about a cab driver who has to protect the embodiment of universal perfection from the end of the universe, mainly at a luxury space resort. 

Has there ever been a more schizophrenic big budget success than The Fifth Element? Most of it is base level thrilling – the futurist visuals are excessively exciting, not afraid of being gaudy or ridiculous. You are a pinball, ricocheting around a wildly conceived galaxy of blue opera singers, floating traffic jams and dog faced terrorists. From Jean Paul Gaultier designed ripped shirts and rubber bikinis to the Jean Giraud inspired alien mechasuits, this is dirty cooked, neon tinged eyecrack that makes the production design on Blade Runner look like Blunt Crawler. And actionwise there’s enough kicking and banging and burning to cataclysmic countdowns that you get your July adrenaline fix too. Willis, probably for one of the last few times, doesn’t phone it in as the too cool for school ageing himbo Korben Dallas. While Milla Jovovich does that Wonder Woman naivety and heroics ting every fool be raving about  a whole two decades earlier and better. She is a marvel in it – sexy, innocent, vulnerable, badass. BUT… Chris Tucker as Ruby Rhod has to be the most annoying character ever committed to screen. More distracting than Rob Scnieder’s Fergie in Judge Dredd. More shrill than Jim Broadbent in Moulin Rouge. More grating than Jar-Jar… “Ooh mooey mooey I love you!” That’s right Mr Binks, you are NOT the utter nadir of turn of the century blockbuster humanoid  shitness. Well done you! Chris Tucker, Chris Tucker, Chris Tucker. Fuck, he’s even still there squawking around in the grand finale, despite serving no purpose. He could have been left back on the exploding cruise spaceship, surely?! You are at a gorgeous banquet, you are loving the amuse-bouche, devouring your starters and savouring those mains and then someone comes and spits on the cheeseboard, shits on your pudding, pisses in your little espresso cup. Chris Tucker, Chris Tucker, Chris Tucker. Hard to know how to feel when one latter half element literally rapes everyone else’s hard work. But I’ll close on a few other things I do like; 1) How superfluous Gary Oldman’s ostensible villian is. Seemingly playing a corporate Southern Bugs Bunny he pointedly never crosses paths with Korben. Though does sack him. A comment on how we never get to meet the true villians face to face? 2) Gary Oldman’s weird little crippled candy floss coloured pet that lives in in his desk. 3) Just how haphazard it all is, yet holds together so well. Clearly, The Fifth Element is a labour of love and a career gamble on Besson’s part. It is not perfect but it is persuasive, sweetly enthusiastic in its ambition. Like a 13 year old has somehow raised $100 million dollars to make a film version of the adventure they acted out in their back garden and their imaginative sun addled head one summer afternoon. But still… Chris… Fucking… Tucker.

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