Owning to the histrionic, fundamentally stagey nature of professional wrestling, it’s unsurprising that so many former wrestlers have pursued careers in film. In the tradition of, and somewhat surpassing, Hulk Hogan and Rowdy Roddy Piper, The Rock has become something of a box office presence in the 21st century — Stone Cold Steve Austin was less lucky — and following in the more immediate footsteps of the latter two is Paul “Triple H” Levesque, whose first starring role comes in the form of The Chaperone: a film that can only be described as well-intentioned but confused, its aspirations towards the action genre somewhat frustrated by its minuscule budget. Although it bears every thematic trace of an action film, except action sequences, it must settle for that most ignominious of sub-genres: the Family Comedy Thriller.
After being released from a seven-year prison stint, bank robber Ray Bradstone (Levesque) attempts to re-enter his life and go straight. Unfortunately, his wife and teenage daughter Sally (Ariel Winter) are anything but enthusiastic about Ray’s unannounced return — the former having replaced him with a balding effete doctor cliché — while his old crime associate, Larue (Kevin Corrigan), is determined to get him back in the game. Finally, Ray buckles under the pressure from Larue but, at the last minute, leaves the crew for dead in the midst of a robbery and decides to hide out for a while as a chaperone for Sally’s school field trip to New Orleans (the bus depot at which the class has gathered being conveniently located across the street from the bank).
The irony of Levesque’s performance — in a film wanting for much intentional humor — is that his tutelage under Vince McMahon seems to have been a detriment to his development as an actor. Sure, Levesque is, at times, funny, heartwarming, and relatable, and sure some of the film’s most touching and hilarious scenes depict the mean-mugged strongman attempting to bond with his daughter, regain the trust of his estranged wife, or give one of his fellow chaperone’s advice on wooing. But it is when “Triple H” takes over that the film begins to appear laughably stupid. Is it at all surprising that the Triple H character was consistently a “heel” or villain throughout his wrestling career?
Since his only reference points for “angry” are his 17 years of ludicrous, hambone wrestling promos, it’s no surprise that Levesque flounders in this department — or, worse still, is expected to channel his WWE self in these scenes. But he is also somewhat fearless as an actor: in one scene, while attempting to bond with his daughter, Ray must tunelessly sing a Frank Sinatra song. His performance is about 50% good, but, frighteningly, it is still the standout of the film, as every other character is a bland cliché, one from which virtually every other performer cannot escape. The use of Kevin Corrigan can also be described as confused: while he has excelled at playing dim, weasley criminals, in The Chaperone he is upgraded to both a “tough guy” and “criminal mastermind,” two suits that never seem to fit him.
Even if it relies a bit too heavily on coincidence — and could have done without the “jobs that don’t work out” montage or Ray’s having forgotten that his daughter is now a teenager and bringing her a teddy bear as a reconciliatory gift — the film’s plot is sort of tightly constructed. The problem is that it just boasts far too many banal stock characters for its own good, including the “technology wiz,” the “cruel hot girl,” and Sally’s “brainy crush” who wears purple shirts, reads Crime and Punishment, and is a fan of the same Kierkegaard-quoting singer/songwriter as she. However, the film is not without its charming little inversions of the conventional stock characters, such as the Laozi-quoting, pyromaniac bully or Yeardley Smith’s rendering of a neurotic, rule-obsessed school bureaucrat. One of the film’s biggest laughs comes from Ray’s attempts to regain peace and order among the rowdy group of awful little clichés of children with a frightening speech during which he accidentally forgets that he’s not still in prison and threatens the children with 24 lockdown and hard labor.
It seems that screenwriter S.J. Roth is aware of the “familiar” nature of these characters: for example, both cruelty and physical disfigurement befall the cruel hot girl, even though she’s really done nothing wrong in the film — he must have forgotten to include scenes of her being cruel — so she is only punished for the actions of previous incarnations of the same character. I only mention this because, unless it is a genuine attempt at intertextual satire, it reflects a general laziness in the screenwriter’s handling of not only reality but “movie” reality. But it could have been worse: in a fight scene, Ray certainly had the opportunity to apply to one of his opponents his signature finishing move, the Pedigree, before taunting him with his signature “crotch chop.”
