HISTORY has a nasty habit of repeating itself.

The Punisher, a gratuitously violent revenge thriller based on a Marvel Comics character, was first immortalised on the big screen in 1989, with blond behemoth Dolph Lundgren in the title role.

The 80s incarnation self-destructed, hampered by an inexpressive and wooden leading man and a deeply unsympathetic hero whose sole purpose in life is to kill.

Jonathan Hensleigh's mean and moody retread suffers from the same fatal flaws - and a few more besides.

At the heart of this Death Wish fantasy is gun-toting meathead Frank Castle, an undercover FBI agent whose entire family - including his ageing father, beloved wife Maria and young son - are brutally slain by sadistic underworld kingpin Howard Saint.

Frank barely survives the bloodbath but once the physical wounds have healed, he vows 'natural justice'.

Thus he adopts the guise of The Punisher, clad in leathers and a skull and crossbones T-shirt given to him by his murdered boy, which is at least one size too small but perfect shows off his buff, manly physique.

Frank arms himself with all of the latest gadgets and weapons, not to mention a permanent pained expression, but he soon realises that he has met his match in Howard Saint and his alluring yet venomous wife Livia.

The body count rises steadily and Frank's new neighbours, oddball trio Joan, Spacker Dave and Mr Bumpo, find themselves unwittingly drawn into the vicious conflict.

The Punisher tries to bludgeon us into submission with its barrage of death and misery, and a deafening rock soundtrack.

Travolta reins in his trademark bad guy theatrics, which is a pity - The Punisher cries out for some shameless pantomime campery to lighten the mood.