"Torrente 4: Lethal Crisis"

Chuscoexplotation.

The first Torrente was amusing itself by exploiting a humor gold mine that many didn't dare to touch on; its sequel was the same joke with more means and located in Marbella, but Torrente 3: el protector became an authentic piece of nonsense in favor of the excessive display of cameos (with some unheard-of ones, such as Oliver Stone's or John Landis's). At this point it may be reviewed the fourth film is better than the third one. But this comes to be like considering that slitting your finger is better than cutting your entire arm off.

Opening a movie with María Patiño is a symptom that something's very messed up in the world. Santiago Segura reuses the screen as a catwalk by saturating it with famous faces, in large part gotten out of the select of junk TV. After some notable credits, the film opens its legs to a chain of stiff gags while the ensemble's hands are tried to be tied with the excuse of a Torrente entrusted to commit an unclean errand, jailed right after and hatching a jailbreak plan like slum Michael Scofield in an insane prison. Not even the homage with smell of chorizo to Victory exempts the work from its basic little risky nature: Santiago Segura keeps extracting oil from an icon that's long ago dead, laid to rest and breathing lime. A Torrente that gets as much those who sympathize with the character as those who it grosses them out to drag them to the movie, even though on the way he forgets to tell a story, at least Bondian, like in previous films.

Excessive foreseeable cameo festival (Carlos Areces, Ana Obregón, Fernando Esteso, Carmen de Mairena, Kiko Matamoros, María Lapiedra) with two esteemed mentions: the villain (just to hear my own voice), played by the singer Francisco and That One Whose Name Must Not Be Pronounced, both starring in a tight fight on screen for the title Do it worse with the least number of lines. The only good thing that could be said about casting/guest-star choices like these (one for the director's whim and the other one for pleasing trashy public) is that at least they said the words they got in the right order. Paquirrín, on his behalf, appears making of casual colleague and he gets one to be aware of the degeneracy of the partenaire during this saga: something that started with actors (Javier Cámara and Gabino Diego) continued with a comedian (José Mota) and led to this.

What does look hilarious in a wicked way is the 3D packaging. Filming the filth in stereoscopic format doesn't stop being something similar to hiring the Berlin Philharmonic to perform Paquito el chocolatero. Now, the action sequences are a lot scarcer (anecdotal) and less spectacular than in previous films.

Thinker, philanthropist, gentleman, hero: Torrente, the King of the Muck.

But if we've got to recognize something to Segura is his fabulous ability of self-advertising. Many could learn that in order to formalize a national industry you've got to sell the junk as if it were gold. The Americans do it well since forever. And for it a mere note: more than two million spectators have payed for watching in this movie a shot of a rump with its majestic testicles hanging in startling 3D.

More than two million.

A rump.
Testicles.
Hanging.
Bravo!