IF THERE'S one thing director Tony Scott isn't, it's subtle.

As the man behind loud, obvious products such as Top Gun and Days of Thunder, and the super-violent True Romance, he has just produced his most blatant ode to action yet, with this urban vigilante tale set in the, apparently, very dangerous streets of Central America.

Denzel Washington takes centre stage as the titular "man", Creasy, who, when we first meet him, is soaked in alcohol and smouldering dangerously rather than "on fire".

A mysterious ex-special services hombre, he's slipping ever more into a whisky haze, and about to give up on life completely when his trusted old friend Rayburn (Christopher Walken) finds him a job as a bodyguard to a young girl, Pita (child star Dakota Fanning).

And before you can say "Mary Poppins", he's become her swim coach and surrogate parent, so happy that he might as well be dancing around a nursery singing about spoonfuls of sugar.

But since Scott has told us at the beginning that there's one kidnapping every 60 minutes in Mexico, we're well aware what little Pita's fate will be, so simply sit out the bonding section and wait for the action to kick in.

Which it then does - with interest. As the remainder of the film is nothing more than a 90-minute blistering assault on the senses.

Though certainly gripping at times, it's rather sickening at others, as Creasy heads out on an apparent mission from God, inspired by the good book, to massacre and maim his way to redemption.

Roaring rampages of revenge seem to be all the rage these days - what with The Bride having set the marker in Kill Bill - but this far less capable film misses the lofty targets it sets for itself.

Fanning and Washington are fine and dandy, but she in no any way resembles her supposed "parents", particularly not her father Marc Anthony (Mr Jennifer Lopez).

This lack of authenticity fatally prevents complete audience absorption in the family and, in the long run, affects the resolution of their part in the plot.

I found it difficult to separate this piece from Scott's 1990 film Revenge, in which Kevin Costner falls in love for half a film and then goes on a gun-toting quest for the latter half.

This, despite being adapted from a novel for the screen by Brian Helgeland (A Knight's Tale, Mystic River), is exactly the same story, with similar outbursts of corny dialogue and sadism, as well as an opportunity for audience derision.

"He's an artist of death, and he's just about to paint his masterpiece," Walken says seriously at one point.

While some of Man on Fire is entertaining and emotional, the bulk of it is a whirling camera fest, a poorly filmed self-conscious mess.

When Tarantino does it, a "man on fire" can be the coolest thing on screen, but Tony Scott's version is ruined by his heavy hands.