If you're wondering why John Travolta has never really made a name for himself as a badass action hero, From Paris with Love should clear up any confusion pretty quickly. Running around with that d-bag goatee, in an Ed Hardy T-shirt and with a medallion purchased from a kiosk at the mall, he just rubs you the wrong way. Of course, he did a fine job playing hitman Vincent Vega in Pulp Fiction so many years ago, so maybe the unending awkwardness of watching Travolta unload clips into bad guys and drop carpet F-bombs derives less from the weirdness of his casting and more from the simple fact that this is a crappy movie.
Either way, it's not really Travolta's fault -- or at least you can't blame him for trying. The aging star does a perfectly adequate job of playing Charlie Wax, the wild-card half of the formulaic, Lethal Weapon-style odd couple who navigate this uninspired spy story (the other half is straight-laced James Reece, being played by Jonathan Rhys-Meyers). The problem is that Travolta just doesn't have the charm, machismo, or gravitas to get you on board with his crazy antics. At least when Bruce Willis holds down some subpar action thriller, he has enough smirking self-awareness and general charisma to keep you generally entertained. Travolta just makes you vaguely bored and uncomfortable. Maybe this wouldn't be such a prominent issue if the movie were even a fraction as over the top as you'd expect a film by Transporter cinematographer Pierre Morel to be, but make no mistake -- this is not a venture into, or even near, the realm of no-rules cinema.
The narrative follows the oddly matched partners as they race around Paris on behalf of the CIA/NSA/Something-or-other in pursuit of busting a drug ring and/or terrorist cell. Along the way, Wax shakes up the by-the-book Reece with his wacky attitude and willingness to shoot up restaurants. But for a movie where the core idea is supposed to be how nuts the main character is, From Paris with Love is almost impressively bland. There isn't a single action sequence, plot development, or creative use of weaponry that strives for -- let alone achieves -- the level of exuberance that this kind of movie demands. Maybe if the script had provided the right context, Travolta's performance wouldn't be so off-putting, but unfortunately for him (and everyone involved) we'll never know.