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You could set your watch to the moment Kitao Sakurai’s “Street Fighter” stops working. It’s almost exactly at the halfway mark, when its streamlined, delightfully cartoonish saga actually reaches its central tournament,
an elimination series of seven fights, of which we see maybe one and a half. From that point on, this martial arts video game adaptation becomes disastrously scattered, between setups and payoffs at complete odds, confounding ADR, and a total lack of any actual conclusion. It’s a shame, given how enjoyable the film initially is.
The movie’s masterstroke is an introduction (and several subsequent flashbacks) rendered in 2D animation, courtesy of studio Titmouse Inc. These fiery, anime-inspired segments set the stage for the story of video game mainstays Ken (Noah Centineo) and Ryu (Andrew Koji), American and Japanese best friends who train under the stern sensei Gouken (Don Lee). Ryu was the winner of the first ever World Warrior tournament in 1987, a victory that led him to the edge of dark, all-consuming powers, courtesy of Gouken’s demonic brother Akuma (pro wrestler Joe “Roman Reigns” Anoa’i), a figure lurking in the shadows.
Upon moving into live action, “Street Fighter” takes a less serious tone, albeit a consistently funny one, via stylized MTV clips recapping Ken’s reckless stardom and Ryu’s self-imposed exile after Gouken’s demise. Six years later, as Ken wins staged fights with the help of opportunistic manager Dan Hibiki (comedian Andrew Schulz, the film’s soulful secret weapon), and Ryu quietly runs a failing noodle stall, they’re approached by secret Interpol agent Chun-Li (Callina Liang). She invites them to a revived World Warrior tournament courtesy of her target, the fascistically-styled Lord M. Bison (David Dastmalchian), who seeks to harness a force called “Psycho Power” from its winner.
These ludicrous ideas are dramatized through appropriately silly scenes where action is the default lingua franca. It’s an approach verging on professional wrestling (fitting, for a film starring at least three pro wrestlers), wherein fisticuffs stand in for everything from negotiations to brotherly reunions. Ken is eager to win the aforementioned tournament, while Ryu is cautious about the ulterior motives for its staging, leading to a surprisingly meaningful tension between the former besties, as they check into M. Bison’s gilded hotel and cross paths with the other fighters — friends and foes alike.
This leads to even more behind-the-scenes skirmishes laced with character-centric comedy, as opposing factions align. On one side stands M. Bison’s forces — the boxer Balrog (rapper Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson), the odorous, green-skinned lightning monster Blanka (Jason Momoa), and the suave, claw-wielding Vega (masked country musician Orville Peck) — while the de facto “good” side features American G.I. Guile (wrestler Cody Rhodes) and mystic fighter Dhalsim (Indian martial artist Vidyut Jammwal). However, the deft combination of punchy dialogue, tongue-in-cheek stunt casting and formally audacious video game effects paves the path for a second half that doesn’t remotely cohere.
As the film becomes increasingly split between the tournament and M. Bison’s unraveling conspiracy, something goes terribly awry in its back half, hinting at either a troubled production, or one that was doomed from the start. The dialogue, whether expository exchanges or quippy one-liners, grows splintered, and is increasingly presented with the backs of speakers’ heads or their mouths partially obscured; it would be interesting to learn how much of the film was rewritten in post.
Worse yet, the movie starts to cut away from its heightened action just as quickly, replacing it with awkward, seemingly improvised comedy that seldom lands (some of it from a TV presenter played by miscast Eric André, Sakurai’s long-time collaborator). That is, when the dialogue is audible at all; much of it ends up subsumed by a thundering sound mix that obscures what you’re actually meant to hear.
The film’s biggest sin, however, is stringing its characters along through a plot that adds vital story elements through flashbacks well over an hour in (such as Ryu and Ken’s secret energy abilities, and the meaning behind them), as they tumble toward inevitable conclusions which never actually materialize. “Street Fighter” has two main antagonists in M. Bison and Akuma, both of whom mostly wait around as the tournament unfolds so they can take advantage of its winner, but neither of whom seems aware of the other’s presence or intentions. So, when it comes time to weave all these threads together (including Chun-Li’s vengeful arc against M. Bison), every character ends up with the wrong emotional climax, and things simply peter out without a real finale.
The film often pays homage to the fan favorite “Street Fighter II: The Animated Movie” (which, despite its title, isn’t actually a sequel), and while this results in some seamless fan service like the occasional bit of throwback dialogue, it also yields a number of awkward scenes left hanging in mid-air. One such moment is, in fact, the film’s conclusion, which is similarly open-ended, but without earning enough goodwill to promise a sequel. Another is a scene of Chun-Li entering a steamy shower. In the animated movie, this led to a vulnerable fight against Vega, with the Interpol agent on the backfoot; even though it was patently salacious, it also served a purpose within the story.
However, the same can’t be said of a similar moment in the live action “Street Fighter,” where the camera simply leers at Liang’s body in a transitionary moment. That the actress put in the work to match the character’s muscular physique is no doubt impressive, but the number of stray shots of women’s buttocks makes the film feel uncomfortable retrograde. (Not to mention several jokes where the punchline is Guile’s latent queerness.)
What little emotional maturity “Street Fighter” appears to display in its initial half goes flying out the window, alongside all sense of story or character, in its second. It’s a film at war with itself, in which a straightforward narrative about strained brotherhood is spread far too thin across unconnected snippets of action and comedy that grow increasingly disparate. And while its major strength remains its hand-drawn flashbacks, the more its two-hour run time proceeds, the more it feels like this captivating anime version of the classic arcade game ought to have been the main event in the first place.
