Too bad it bombed, because Around the World in 80 Days, an adaptation of Jules Verne’s classic novel, is one of the most purely enjoyable American vehicles for Jackie Chan. On the run after stealing his village’s one-of-a-kind jade Buddha from the Bank of London, Chan’s Passepartout finds a convenient hiding place as a valet to eccentric inventor Phileas Fogg (Steve Coogan, Tropic Thunder). When Fogg accepts a career-on-the-line bet to traverse the globe in 80 days, Passepartout sees the trip as a great way to evade authorities.

No matter where they go, they’re pursued by policemen, not to mention the occasional ninja. Picking up a French painter for whom Fogg has an eye (the cute but annoying Cécile De France, Hereafter), the pair finds adventure going country to country, continent to continent, whether by air, land or sea. Said adventures include meeting an egotistical Turkish prince (Arnold Schwarzenegger) who’s on the prowl for a seventh wife, running into the Wright Brothers (an ad-libbing Owen and Luke Wilson) in the middle of the desert and rightfully returning the Buddha to his Chinese village, only to find themselves in the middle of a martial-arts battle, with Sammo Hung as the legendary fighter Wong Fei Hung.

The way the movie plays with various genres, locales and historical characters is undeniably fun, but it’s elevated to another level entirely by Chan’s set pieces. The aforementioned fight that has him squaring off alongside pal Hung is a highlight, as is when he attempts to board a hot air balloon by hanging on to a rope, encountering numerous obstacles in the process, just ripe for his brand of physical comedy.

Usually family films are seemingly made for only one half of the family: the young one. But 80 Days can be enjoyed by all ages without insulting the older half. Oh, sure, there are obvious slapstick bits to guarantee laughs from the kids, but many of them are carried off with enough skill and comic timing that it was hard to resist them myself. It is an old-fashioned epic adventure that remains true to Verne’s light style while also making for a great and appropriate showcase for the inimitable Chan. My only problem: Where are his trademark end-credit outtakes? —Rod Lott

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Do or Die is another installment in Andy Sidaris’ guilty-pleasure series of T&AK-47 action opuses. This one is chock-full of all the standard elements — former Playboy Playmates, guns, explosions and remote-control aircraft — plus the added fun of one-time Oscar nominee Pat Morita, never-in-danger-of-Academy-honors Erik Estrada and the inexplicably bosomed Stephanie Schick (aka Pandora Peaks).

As usual, the ever-bouncy Dona Spier and bouncier Roberta Vasquez are on hand (but, alas, not in my hands) as federal agents out to quash the mystical Asian overlord Kane, this time played by Morita. Estrada plays a guy named Rico and refers to his penis as “Little Rico.” (Hey, at least he’s honest.)

Thanks to Peaks, the breasts are bigger than ever. And wetter, as Schick unleashes hers under a waterfall, while Vasquez plays a round of human tequila shots. Blondes and brunettes aren’t you thing? In her third Sidaris go-round, leggy ginger Cynthia Brimhall is here to fulfill that particular fetish — and, boy, does she ever.

The Sidaris glue, whatever its magic formula, isn’t laid on quite as thick here as in his other sexy spysters like Fit to Kill. But still, it’s Sidaris, which means worthy viewing no matter what. —Rod Lott

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Hypothetically, say two of your fellow police officers turn up dead, both with their windpipes smashed. Would you theorize the following: “Maybe it’s one of them karate weirdos like in the movies!” The hypothetical is also a rhetorical, because that’s what happens in the Chuck Norris film A Force of One.

Thinking they’re up against a “karate killer,” detective Dunne (Clu Gulager, The Return of the Living Dead) brings in professional sparrer Matt Logan (Norris) to train his narcotics squad, which includes Scanners‘ Jennifer O’Neill, top-billed, yet made to look as manly as her character’s name sounds, Mandy Rust.

After the karate killer strikes again, Dunne orders, “These karate people: Check ’em out!” Even Logan begins to question it, thinking perhaps the murderer is someone he and his punching pals know closely. Without giving away the culprit’s identity, I would like to note that naturally, the final fight occurs in slow-motion and sans shirts.

Made back when Norris was considered a popular entertainer, as opposed to right-wing loon, A Force of One is a decent marriage of his considerable martial-arts skills and the constructs of the action genre. The fun supporting cast includes Super Fly himself, Ron O’Neal; Bill “Superfoot” Wallace (L.A. Streetfighters); Eric Laneuville (TV’s St. Elsewhere) as Logan’s son, so let that sink in, if you know who Laneuville is; Chuck’s brother, Aaron Norris, who co-choreographed all the kicking; Chuck’s son, Michael Norris, as “Pizza Skateboarder”; and Chu Chu Malave. I don’t really know who that is, but I sure enjoy saying his name. —Rod Lott

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One of the best superhero movies you’re likely never to have seen hails from South America: Mirageman, one of a number of kick-ass collaborations between Chilean writer/director Ernesto Díaz Espinoza and star Marko Zaror, aka the Latin Dragon.

Here, Zaror plays Maco, the strong, silent type who lives alone and earns a meager living as a bouncer, and whose life is given purpose after thwarting a home robbery while out for a night run. One of the victims in that incident is foxy newscaster Carol V. (María Elena Swett), who later sings his praises on TV, but has no idea who he is, because Maco had donned the blue ski mask of the first criminal he foiled.

Setting up an email account, the superhero soon known as Mirageman becomes a public vigilante, but mocked by the media. His missions increase in severity, from sparring with a gang of breakdancers to rescuing a 6-year-old kidnapped by a pedophile network. Along the way, he (briefly) acquires a sidekick, Pseudo-Robin.

Realistic and original by comparison to Hollywood’s comics-spurred tentpoles, this scrappy, low-budget effort — shot partly catch-as-catch-can — soars on the sure hand of Espinoza’s vision, which comes infused with a dose of good-natured humor, and the broad shoulders of the instantly endearing Zaror, who’s an Expendables-worthy real deal. He speaks very little throughout, but lets his martial-arts expertise — and his homemade Spider-Man goggles — do the talking. —Rod Lott

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Of the three films made to date of the Marvel Comics character, 2004’s The Punisher is half the movie as the ones that bookend it. Thomas Jane (Deep Blue Sea) assumes the Punisher role, aka Frank Castle, a FBI agent who calls it quits after too many grueling undercover jobs, the most recent of which resulted in the accidental death of the son of über-rich businessman Howard Saint, played by John Travolta, here fully ensconced in his honey-baked ham mode.

As payback, Saint — oh, the irony! — orders the assassination of Castle and his entire family, conveniently assembled in one place for a family reunion. Only Frank manages to survive. Donning the black, skull-emblazoned T-shirt his son opportunely gifted him before dying, he calls himself The Punisher, outfits his car and apartment with weapons galore and sets out to take down Saint and all his expensive-suited goons.

In his directorial debut, Jonathan Hensleigh gives his revenge tale an ugly grit that’s supposed to remind audiences of the pistol-packin’ ‘70s, but unfortunately, his story and pacing are reminiscent of ‘70s episodic cop shows. The dialogue is melodramatic and goofy; the score is overwrought and inappropriate.

And Jane doesn’t get to do much punishing. Aside from the final office-building siege in which Castle doles out some ass-kicking (and neck-penetrating and chin-stabbing), the action is subdued rather than exciting. The film’s big fight scene is supposed to be a mano y mano match between Castle and a mute walking steroid known as “the Russian,” but it’s hard not to laugh since he’s dressed like Baby Huey.

The Punisher is one of the last movies that needs comic relief, but lo and behold, it throws in not one, but two wacky neighbors! It also doesn’t need romance, but Rebecca Romijn-Stamos is there anyway as a heartbroken, downtrodden waitress who takes a shine to Castle. It’s not that the film needs eye candy with Mulholland Dr. hussy Laura Harring bouncing across the screen, but what was Hensleigh thinking when he cuts away from her undressing to lingerie? Oh, well, at least he lets us see Travolta be dragged by a car and set aflame in full. —Rod Lott

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