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Jackie Chan now has a diaper-disaster movie to his name
By Felix Cheong, TODAY | Posted: 29 September 2006 1154 hrs

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The oddly-named Rob-B-Hood follows a dictum long cherished by the film industry: If in doubt, throw a baby into the works.

And following Arnie in Kindergarten Cop (1990) and Vin Diesel in The Pacifier (2005), Jackie Chan now has a diaper-disaster movie to call his own.

Chan plays compulsive gambler Thongs while Louis Koo is his suave lady-killer sidekick Octopus. Yes, it's the kind of Hong Kong movie where weird names abound.

The dynamic duo are small-time crooks who work in cahoots with their landlord (Michael Hui).

In the deftly choreographed and edited opening sequence, they're about to run off with drugs like Viagra from the hospital pharmacy when they stop a man who is trying to snatch a newborn from the arms of his former girlfriend.

Several capers later, the three losers are down in the dumps again and decide to take on another job: Kidnap the baby (Matthew Madvedev) whom they had saved earlier.

Naturally, when the handover to the triad boss is about to take place, Thongs and Octopus have already taken a shine to the oh-so-cutesy-gurgling-drooling boy.

All the gags you've seen before in Three Men and a Baby (1987) are here - and more.

Thanks to Chan's athletic moves and comic timing - check out how he escapes down a building by hopping from one air-conditioning condenser to another - even cleaning up poop looks like a gongfu exercise. He's aided by Koo whose tanned, smarmy looks make him the perfect foil.

In one laugh-out-loud scene, the two pretend to be a gay couple as they stock up on diapers and milk powder at the supermarket.

But director Benny Chan tends to let these heart-warming moments get the better of his film.

The result is lots of love-handle flab. And he doesn't seem to know what to do with the female cast, most of whom are rendered redundant by a script that gives them precious little to do except pout and whine.

This is one movie where the women don't get it and it's the men who wear their maternal instinct on vomit-soaked sleeves. -



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