Not to be pedantic, but the wordplay accidentally displayed in the title of Bullet Proof implies what it doesn’t mean to say. Proof of bullets. That much is on display for the leading man and thespian Vinnie Jones, who is thrown into a whirlwind of set pieces. But Bulletproof, presumably, would make more sense. He is the plot armour-adorned leading man, the shining armour of which has not quite been polished off for his turn here as Temple, a character that may as well be an extension of Jones. Like all his other character work. A directorial debut that doesn’t have a leg to stand on as it pushes forth against a barrage of warning signs and tropes that have failed to work for bigger names elsewhere.
Does that mark Bullet Proof as a learning curve for debut director James Clayton? It should not. Clayton should know better than to get a typically typecast, boring lead for his first feature. But it is the framing and technical qualities that surround the characters that leave the worst outcomes of all. Quick cut editing and drone cameras spiral around, leaving little focus on the inanimate, poorly developed action sequences. They are filled with caricatures and items of vague understanding. The facial tattoos of a villain in a scrapyard and the heroics of a generic action man with a white t-shirt and borderline blurs of military and civilian gear. These are not interesting, but Jones’ villainous turn marks yet another step in his long and winding career.
To his credit, Jones has developed his hard man persona about as well as can be expected for a former Wimbledon football player associated so frequently with the football hooliganism mentality. Still, it is interesting that what Jones was punished for in the 1990s is now his shtick. Even then, it is up to viewers to decide whether shtick or happenstance is the worst piece of Bullet Proof. Guns lying about the place, in areas that will come in handy later down the line. It is very obvious, very dull storytelling elements like that which break Bullet Proof. Clayton’s direction is the usual ultra-focused, blurred visions that try and reap some reward of expensive artistry, but end up coming out a bit too refined, a bit too much like a trailer shot. It all plays out with artificial, shaky results.
Considering the usual run of big names in low-budget movies, it is surprising just how much Jones sticks around and plays up the image. He grits his teeth, saunters about and beats up henchmen as though he were back on the streets of London. Mean Machine this is not. But it does give Jones and James Clayton a place to play ball, despite one of the two characters not even getting a name. Lina Lecompte features also in a role as redundant and forgettable as everyone around her. At least consistency can be found within Bullet Proof, a feature that leaves no mark and takes no prisoners. Everything that surrounds the characters, the actions they take and the moves they make, is buoyed by an unresponsible happenstance.
