movie review
BEVERLY HILLS COP: AXEL F
Running time: 118 minutes. Rated R (language throughout, violence and brief drug use). On Netflix.
After the overhyped letdown that was 2021’s “Coming 2 America,” the misguided sequel to “Coming to America,” it’s understandable that viewers approach Eddie Murphy’s new “Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F” with some trepidation.
Unfortunately, they’re right to.
Netflix has, once again, gotten its greedy hands on a cherished title, tossed in some celebs and lazily devalued it into an algorithmic afterthought.
Everything uniquely special and hilarious about the 1984 fish-out-of-water hit is gone, replaced by commodity streaming mush that looks like every other ho-hum action-comedy right now.
Another mediocre nostalgia grab.
More and more I ask, though: How nostalgic is it, really, to see our favorite characters return worn out and weary in forgettable films? Who does that make feel good? Not me!
Problem No. 1 is that Detroit police officer Axel Foley (Murphy) hasn’t changed enough since 1994’s dismal “Beverly Hills Cop III.”
The only substantive difference is that he has an estranged adult daughter named Jane (Taylour Paige), a defense attorney in Beverly Hills, who gets into a dicey situation with a drug cartel.
That’s why he leaves Michigan for the luxe California enclave, where director Mark Molloy stages overly wacky chase scenes (a helicopter flying in traffic) and beats tired gags to death.
Axel desperately needed some new shtick. “Bad Boys for Life,” for example, pumped energy into a workhorse franchise by having Will Smith and Martin Lawrence’s characters humorously wrestle with middle age. That worked wonders.
“Axel F” should have made a similar move with the title cop instead of choosing business as usual. The guy can’t still be an outsider in Beverly Hills. He’s been going there for 40 years.
Failing to succumb to logic, the filmmakers have him do variations on the same old bits. Axel tries to talk his way into a members-only bar and a country club by donning fake identities, and is rudely dismissed by stuffy gatekeepers.
Those street-smart scenes are not as delightful as they used to be, frankly, because Murphy is not as spry or lively as he once was. That the young actor was a comic force of nature is what sold the character’s fibs and antics. His intensity made us believe he could lie his way to a hotel room as a Rolling Stone reporter. Half commitment doesn’t cut it.
Another hurdle is that the town is no longer the 90210 of Robin Leach’s “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous” and Zsa Zsa Gabor in mink. Wealthy people dress and act casually all the time. What’s so odd about Axel wearing a Detroit Lions letterman jacket to an upscale establishment? Have you seen what Kanye wears?
When he arrives in California, his old partner Rosewood (Judge Reinhold) and Sgt. Taggart (John Ashton) tell him some troubling news.
“Your daughter is defending a godd–ned cop killer!” Taggart says. But she insists that her guy is innocent, and Axel trusts his kid.
Once we’re introduced to Kevin Bacon’s obviously evil police Capt. Cade Grant inside of the first 20 minutes, any possible suspense is donezo.
At first cold, Axel and Jane grow closer as they drive around Beverly Hills trying to exonerate her client. They’re joined by Jane’s detective ex-boyfriend Bobby, played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt.
They encounter silly underworld figures like Luis Guzmán’s glittery drug lord Chalino. And Bronson Pinchot returns as European Serge, who can’t pronounce the name Abbott. The joke is not as funny as you remember.
There are very few big laughs in this winding police corruption tale that steadily loses steam. Midway through, we’ve stopped caring about the plot, such as it is. Mostly, the story serves as an excuse to reintroduce familiar faces that nobody was hankering to see anyway.
You know what I’m nostalgic for? Exciting original movies.