An action thriller exactly like every other, the film pairs Willis with Mos Def, who plays the kind of retrograde, stereotypical role—a chatterbox small-time criminal with dreams of opening a bakery—he'd rail bitterly against in his angry-political-rapper mode. Mos Def has always taken chances as a rapper and actor, but his decision to give his hapless crook the high-pitched, nasal whine of a mush-mouthed Urkel doesn't exactly pay huge creative dividends: The problem with playing an irritating character too convincingly is that it generally annoys the audience as well as the protagonist. In 16 Blocks, the promising but wasted B-movie premise involves Willis transporting Def the eponymous distance so he can testify against dirty cops. Veteran heavy David Morse lends a smiling malevolence to his role as a corrupt policeman intent on eliminating Def before he can put a whole bunch of cops in prison.
Richard Wenk's familiar screenplay laboriously establishes Willis as an exhausted, limping shell of a man rotting internally from decades of alcoholism and self-hatred. Yet whenever the film requires it, Willis magically morphs into a super-cop with the lightning-fast reflexes of an 18-year-old Navy SEAL. Then he undergoes just as dramatic a de-evolution back into a bumbling buffoon when the movie requires him to, say, lose track of his prisoner/pal. Great movies tend to inspire animated post-viewing conversations. But the only talk passable genre mediocrities like 16 Blocks should inspire involves plot holes, inconsistencies, and contempt for logic and plausibility.
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