John Travolta gets out-acted by his own hair piece in this noir techno-thriller classic. Travolta’s a massive failure at his current career choice: terrorism. And that ain’t much of a surprise, cause the only thing he looks like he could detonate is a toilet torpedo. Also, he’s broke as shit, he needs wig money, and he needs it now! He’s wigging out!
He hires Halle Berry, Don Cheadle, and that giant British chode from Lock Stock and Two Smoking Dicks to help him rob a bank. He also gets his coder dork buddy Hugh Jackman on board to hack the bank’s computer systems, and the team is ready for action. But first, Travolta straps on his new, “mom got highlights” wig to give him the confidence he needs to pull this heist off. In fact, for some fucking reason, the whole team gets highlights.
In one very creepy scene, Travolta walks in on some girl giving Jackman dome, and instead of leaving like a normal person would, he just stands there and silently watches while this chick whistles Jackman’s skin flute. Jackman’s kind of gesturing to him, like “get the fuck out of here, dude!” cause that’s gotta be a real boner killer to have Travolta’s beady little eyes all over your junk while you’re getting a BlueJay. But Travolta walks up, puts a gun to Jackman’s head, and tells him this is “part one” of his interview for the bank job. How the fuck getting your pole smoked at gunpoint while another dude watches is gonna help them rob a bank, I don’t know.
In a memorable action sequence, Travolta and Jackman are driving around town, and they start getting tailed by some cheesed off guys in sports cars who wanna waste Travolta cause of this one guy’s family he boned over. Travolta’s all “heeeey, take the wheel, okay?” then the fatso proceeds to shoot the shit out of all those dudes in their Alfa Romeo’s. And it’s like, come the fuck on, Travolta, you look like a tubby lesbian who’s Sun-in got outta control, not some badass killing machine.
Next, Travolta serves Jackman dinner, and it’s a big plate of swordfish he’s cooked himself. While Jackman’s chowing down, Travolta gives a super bizarre speech about how he loves swordfish, that he caught this fish himself, and that pointy nosed bastard was a real fighter. Right before it died, while it was flopping around on the boat, the fish managed to hack off a chunk of Travolta’s buttcheek with it’s sword nose, and then it fucking ate it. JT tells Jackman that he’s basically eating part of his butt by eating that fish. And, so, turns out that “part three” of the interview is Jackman violently puking into a toilet bowl.
Well, the bank job goes down and they get away with a shit ton of money. The government’s so impressed with how this fatass and his crew of dick slappers were able to pull this heist off, they hire Travolta, Jackman and Berry to be their new undercover, international spies. So, now, Travolta gets to play dress up all the time with the best wigs and outfits money can buy, which he fucking loves, and go around the world killing people and watching Jackman get sucked off in other countries. He’s got it made!