The Punisher (2004)

“The Punisher” is a punishment to watch. Tone deaf, overlong, filmed in a seemingly deserted Tampa Bay (subbing for New York!) and overacted to the point of hilarity, we suffer more than anyone on screen. The plot to this Marvel comic book vigilante flick: Ex-FBI agent Frank Castle (Thomas Jane) watches his entire family be killed before he himself is left for dead by gangsters (led by John Travolta, all “Weeee! I’m a bad guy!”). Naturally, Castle returns to slay all who wronged him. The comics I recall, Castle was a bad-ass loner feared by villains and super heroes. Here, he babbles nonstop, befriends a trio of special-needs cases imported from an insipid comedy, and, at one point, tortures a half-naked guy by sliding a frozen Popsicle along the man’s back. Um, erotic? No. Punishment. Jane mumbles his lines like an ESL Eastwood and insists his actions are not revenge. Huh? Odd fact: Marvel had made this film three times. Masochistic? D-