Main cast: John Travolta (Gabriel Shear), Hugh Jackman (Stanley Jobson), Halle Berry (Ginger), Don Cheadle (Agent AD Roberts), Sam Shepard (Senator James Reisman), Vinnie Jones (Marco), Drea de Matteo (Melissa), Rudolf Martin (Axl Torvalds), Zach Grenier (Assistant Director Bill Joy), and Camryn Grimes (Holly Jobson)
Director: Dominic Sena

Hugh Jackman is so beautiful he is almost pornographic. Swordfish is Jackman soft-porn at its ultimate – the sight of him jamming away at a computer as he is having a gun pointed to his head while simultaneously receiving a blow job, now that one should be sleazy, but one look at Mr Jackman’s bearded, mussed look and I am gone. And don’t bother rescuing me, I love being gone.

See Mr Jackman run – hubba hubba. See him shirtless – yowsers. See him lying in a bed shirtless – oh God, hand me my aspirins somebody.

But really, unless Mr Jackman wants to follow the road of Beefcake Himbo Career, someone better get him a new agent. He’s becoming the male Catherine Zeta-Jones: one good role and nothing even close thereafter.

Swordfish is like a hacker movie crossed with a long, boring car chase and lots of gunfire. John Travolta, slimmed down a lot (liposuction?), plays this rogue millionaire terrorist with an annoying drawling accent. He and his honcho Ginger recruits one of the two best hackers in the world, Stanley Jobson, to help him get lots of money from the government. On their trail is an agent (Don Cheadle) who spends all his screen time looking worried, yelling into some sophisticated walkie-talkie, or giving chase.

Apart from flashing her boobies, Halle Berry spends most of her screen time looking mysterious (or that’s what she tries to do, she looks constipated though to me) or looking worried. Hugh Jackman spends most of his screen time looking worried (about daughter, about his laptop, about his career) or running. He looks good though. Now that’s an understatement. Both actor and actress spend most of their time falling out of their clothes. Now that’s a good thing. I’m not complaining. Wow baby hoochie-mama wow wow wow.

John Travolta spends most of his time looking embarrassed about his lines and cackling maniacally. He doesn’t take off his clothes though. Thank goodness.

What’s left? Bombs. Bullets. Boring hacker stories. More bombs. More ammo wastage. Really, does it matter? I’m just here to ogle at the always half-naked Hugh Jackman.