The last film to debut a professional wrestling actor was last May's Kane stinker "See No Evil." At the time, I was pretty sure it was the dumbest movie I'd see all year. After watching John Cena's big screen gumball, "The Marine," I stand corrected.

In interviews, Cena has compared the thrills of "Marine" to Arnold Schwarzenegger's 1985 guilty pleasure, "Commando." In some respects, I can understand the comparison. Both pictures are high octane stunt spectacles, comfy in the notion that all the production has to do is blow up everything in sight, get the star to manhandle the bad guys, and the film will find its audience. However, as goofy as "Commando" was (and boy, was it ever), it was relatively calm next to the hyperactive "Marine," and certainly featured more respectable direction and a script that didn't dive off the deep end. "Marine" is dollar-store DVD lunacy, and not in a good way.

WWE director John Bonito goes bonkers trying to drum up excitement with this film. Basically, "Marine" is 90 minutes of fireballs, unspeakable one-liners, and poorly choreographed fight sequences. At least I thought they were fight sequences. Bonito edits the film so frantically, it could be just Cena standing still for all I could see. Everything in "Marine" is pumped up to deafening proportions, from Cena's Herculean physique to, get this, sports cars for the South Carolina state troopers.

The problem with Cena goes beyond his easily spotted first film jitters. He's a mountainous man, yet cursed with the vocal authority of pubescent 16 year-old held at the mercy of a film that won't let us see what makes him so popular on the wrestling circuit. At least Schwarzenegger was a hard-ass of the highest order. Hindered by a PG-13 rating that dampens the mood by placing all the violent money shots off camera, Cena comes off as a bland action figure, ready to be posed in any film WWE sends down the pipe for him, but lacking a zesty charisma that could turn him into a genre icon.

At least the production had the sense to cast Kelly Carlson as John's kidnapped wife. With Carlson as the damsel in distress, I can see why Triton battles so hard to get her back. I doubt someone like Selma Blair in the role would have lent the film its one crumble of reality.

Call it "Snakes on a Plane" syndrome, but "Marine" tires quickly trying to posture itself as a bad B-movie. Again, you really can't proclaim yourself sinful cinematic garbage; you have to earn it. "Marine" is full of winks, tossed in a smorgasbord of a screenplay that gives Rome's henchman a fear of rock candy and a moment where, in mid-threat, Rome takes a phone call to discuss his cable TV options. Couple that malarkey with the fact that Triton leaps out of the way of not one, not two, but three building explosions during the course of the picture (of course, not a scratch on him), and "The Marine" proudly admits that it's junk. Who am I to disagree?