Uma Thurman has the unenviable distinction of appearing in the 90s' two biggest "can't be that bad, surely?" films. Like "Batman and Robin", The Avengers, through sheer will of its poor critical reception, compels one to see it. An unseen force taunts the innocent rental video store customer with a "come on, you know you want to, you're dying to know if it's as bad as they say".<br /><br />Of course, the Avengers, like Batman and Robin, IS every inch as bad as they say. 86 minutes (the anaemic "plot" can't even stretch to an hour and a half) of sheer, unerring tedium that beggars belief. Thurman is the most obvious target. Her English accent is about 90% successful to my ears, (she's certainly no Keanu or Dick Van Dyke in the fake Brit stakes), but this notably draws on her acting. But the main flaw is her innate lack of irony. She just doesn't appear to comprehend such an old style of wit (not that such a misinterpretation is hard, as limply presented as it is here), and whereas in the delightful Pulp Fiction she amuses with her tales of Tony "Rocky Horror" and being the humour element of "Fox Force Five", as Mrs. Peel she's a washout.<br /><br />Many people cite the film's failure as a direct comparison to the television series. Whereas I understand enough of the show to know the real Mrs. Peel was too much of a lady to kick Eddie Izzard where it hurts, I've never really been acquainted with the 60s exploits of Patrick Macnee and co for it to really matter. To this end, I believe this gives me a fresh advantage in viewing the movie. I came to The Avengers without having to compare Fiennes' charm to that of Patrick's, or compare Thurman's curves to the incomparable cheekbones of Diana Rigg. It matters not. As good as the tv show, better, worse, the end result is the same: the movie stinks.<br /><br />Never on celluloid has there been such a resounding lack of chemistry between two leads. Even Thurman's scripted interruptions and witty rejoinders come too late, with Fiennes, sparkling in "Strange Days", excruciatingly self-conscious in Steed's shoes. Wilfully eccentric and forcefully quaint, their mannerisms are more poseur than debonair. These are two people that wouldn't even pass the time of day in real life, much less conduct a sexual relationship with chaste closed lips. Half the time it's almost impossible to believe they were in the same room during their scenes together, so weak is their connection.<br /><br />A slight upturn in the film is Sean Connery, who must have owed his agent a favour to have accepted this appallingly scripted farrago. As with his James Bond (to which the Bassey-soundalike Grace Jones end song owes a tip of the hat), Connery has an air of physical menace. And, as with the quote of this review, given half a chance Sean can make even the most innocent of lines sound dirty. He was actually talking about rain. Most of the time, though, he spouts about wanting a ransom in exchange for decent weather in England (like English people are so used to decent weather rain and snow would bother them - has the writer ever set foot in this country???) and tries to drug-rape Mrs. Peel in a distasteful scene. The rest of his lines are as inept as "John Steed... what a horse's a**e of a name", yet he manages to hold some modicum of dignity dressed as a giant teddy bear.<br /><br />In all honesty I can see no way, no level on which this film works. Direction in terms of shots and angles is reasonable, but in terms of actors it's lousy. The script is trite and thin. I really can't bring myself to describe the storyline as a collection of set pieces, as the term "set piece" generally implies something good. Whereas even the execrable "Batman and Robin" had some good bits threaded together, none of the painfully set-up "segments" that make up this inanity carry any form of tension, drama or wit. Believe me, this film truly is as bad as they say. I saw this film so you don't have to. Thank me for it, hate me for it, reward me for it. Just do me a favour and don't bother to see it.