Turns out not even Statham, Wahlberg and Gibson could reboot this 92-minute crime thriller masterpiece

Here's an odd Hollywood pattern for you: three big-name stars — Jason Statham, Mark Wahlberg, and Mel Gibson — have each tried (and failed) to reboot the same crime classic. The film in question? The 1967 thriller Point Blank, helmed by the legendary Sir John Boorman and based on the first of Donald E. Westlake's (a.k.a. Richard Stark) 'Parker' novels. This isn't just some cult anomaly; directors like Steven Soderbergh call it a masterpiece, film buffs won't shut up about it, and Zack Snyder calls Boorman his favourite director. So why can't Hollywood get it right with a modern update? Let me walk you through it.

Boorman's Point Blank hit screens in 1967, shot partly at Alcatraz – which had only shut its doors three years prior.

The Boorman & Marvin Benchmark

For those who've missed out: Point Blank opens in the haunted ruins of Alcatraz, just after its actual closure. There's an all-timer of a setup – Lee Marvin's tough-as-nails Walker gets shot by his mate-turned-traitor (John Vernon as Mal Reese) during a heist, then goes on a cold, calculated tear across San Francisco seeking payback. The catch? Walker's hard-stolen cash is already in the hands of "The Organization", a proper shadowy criminal outfit, so he's picking off crooks one by one just for a chance at what's his. The entire film is cut with this crisp, unconventional style — noir intensity spliced with surreal jump-cuts and a rhythm straight from the French New Wave. And there's always this thread of ambiguity about whether Walker's dead, or just dreaming, or what. Boorman himself, naturally, wouldn't give anything away in his commentary, just telling viewers:

‘What it is, is what you see.’

It's hard not to respect that kind of confidence. Especially considering Westlake — over a hundred novels to his name — approved the weirdness, since Boorman kept the novel's fractured timeline and murky morality intact. The film lingers on empty spaces — derelict prisons and lonely causeways — just as much as the action. That's part of the magic.

Every Attempt Since

• 1999: Mel Gibson stars in Payback (directed by Brian Helgeland). It's a direct remake, more or less, but Gibson's character had to be renamed 'Porter' because Westlake wouldn't sign over 'Parker' for a one-off. Gibson famously fought for more control over the film, leading to two versions: the studio cut, and later an alternate 'Payback: Straight Up – The Director's Cut.' Both have their moments, neither comes close to the original's strangeness or suspense.
• 2013: Jason Statham steps in for Parker. This one finally uses the real character name, but only because Westlake's widow agreed to sell the single-film rights after the writer's death — and just once. The script lifts from the 19th (!) Parker novel, Flashfire, rather than the original. Statham thumps people as you'd expect but the film was a box office flop, pulling in $46 million on a $35 million budget. Not exactly franchise material.
• 2024: Mark Wahlberg and LaKeith Stanfield headline Play Dirty, directed by Shane Black. Another critical misfire. The film tries to blend several Westlake plots rather than sticking to a single story — honestly, that's where it lost me. People fancied Robert Downey Jr. for the role (apparently he was nearly cast), but I don't think it would have saved the script.

The Statham vehicle Parker cost $35 million and only scraped in $46 million worldwide.

Why the Imitators Miss the Mark

Here’s where things get interesting — despite all the talent involved, every modern attempt looks, sounds, and feels like every other 'crime gone wrong' network action movie churned out over the past two decades. They’re fine, if you’re after something strictly by-the-numbers, but none of them experiment with structure or tone the way Boorman’s original did. The reinventions — Gibson’s brooding antihero, Statham’s punchy vengeance runs, Wahlberg’s self-aware one-liners — all end up too polished, too normal.

Meanwhile, Point Blank just doesn't let you get comfortable. Its disorienting style, refusal to explain itself, and unsentimental lead make it uniquely memorable, even now. Everything about it — from the washed-out cityscapes to the slow-burn bursts of violence — is intentionally offbeat, which is why it remains so hard to copy. The fact that Boorman, Lee Marvin, and Westlake all seemed to be daring each other not to play by the rules… that's what everyone since has been missing.