“I need a direction,” mumbles Vin Diesel early in Riddick. You said it, big guy… but don’t let the whiff of self-awareness dupe you into thinking David Twohy’s threequel is the route map Diesel’s sci-fi anti-hero needs.
With its low-ish budget, Riddick could have been the lean space-shocker that fans of 2000’s series-starter Pitch Black wanted. But it more often repeats the errors of 2004’s sequel The Chronicles Of Riddick, devolving into a slow, sloppy mess made even messier when its misogyny bites.
Too stodgy for B-movie suspense, too silly to shock, too sexist to stomach, Diesel’s return misfires. Where’s Xander Cage when you need him?