Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle

This is one of the silliest movies ever made--and lots of instantly forgettable fun.

The movie is constructed not so much of scenes, but of the poses that Charlie's Voguers throw as they preen and pout their way through a series of pop videos.

The sequel to Charlie's Angels is a bit like being spritzed in the face with all the bad teenage perfume ever made.

Mini skirt girl power continues.

The work apparently sets out to prove that a film in the "post-modern" and "post-logocentric" age needs no plot whatsoever, merely large amounts of energy and technological wizardry.

The film has so many fun curiosities that I find myself unable to fail it.

A film that concurrently confused adrenaline-fuelled whimsy with hacky over-editing, and Justin Theroux with someone capable of doing an Irish accent.

Where the first film is aggressively gleeful, the sequel feels like felonious assault - a cold, calculated and cobbled-together continuation from which all comedy and camaraderie has been sucked out. Your brain will eventually wave the white flag.