‘BAD BOYS FOR LIFE’
IS KINDA BAD.
WHATCHA
GONNA DO?
The third edition of the “Bad Boys” franchise starts
as it must do: With a gleaming Porsche swerving
at impossible speeds through Miami traffic under
the expert control of Will Smith, with Martin
Lawrence growing very sick beside him.
The engine snarls, the car repeatedly fishtails
and strains. Smith looks over to his partner with
alarm and points out that the interior of the
sports car is hand-stitched leather. Lawrence’s
cheeks bulge; he’s about to hurl: “You better
drink it,” the driver barks.
All is good. We’ve again got Smith’s cocksure
Detective Mike Lowrey beside Lawrence’s more
cautious Marcus Burnett. There’s the customary
playful banter between opposites. We’ve got
sunny, titillating Miami and we are inches from
death but really never that close. We’re in our
’90s comfort zone. You can almost hear it: “Bad
boys, bad boys/Whatcha gonna do, whatcha
gonna do/When they come for you?”
