Straight people, we need an intervention. This isn’t about excessive drinking or smoking. No, this is about miscalculated emulations of Joel Schumacher and Wachowski Sister aesthetics. Between Thor: Love and Thunder, Godzilla X Kong: The New Empire, Masters of the Universe (which, to be fair, had an openly gay man screenwriter), and now 2026’s Street Fighter, there’s a perception that some bright colors, surface-level fidelity to various source materials, and inexplicable silliness will transform your film into “camp” and bombastic maximalist entertainment. Like Speed Racer or even the divisive but eternally memorable Schumacher Batman films.

Unfortunately, straights, y’all just can’t get out of your own way when emulating these titles. Love or hate Batman & Robin, confidence fuels a movie in love with Arnold Schwarzenegger delivering ice puns. The masterpiece Speed Racer, meanwhile, turned standard American cinema visual storytelling norms on their heads to dazzling effect.

Meanwhile, the heterosexual attempts to mimic these styles radiate insecurity. Having characters quip “is that your new catchphrase?”, or constantly pause to explain how and why the inexplicable is happening doesn’t one iota of confidence. Plus, the flashy colors often exist only in family comic book/video game costumes. Otherwise, these films just drape their characters in interchangeable grey tableaus and filter them through very standard camera angles and editing techniques.

Street Fighter is a new poster child for this problem. It craves unpredictable silliness. Instead, it’s too stale and formulaic to live up to its ambitions. Excessive preoccupation with expository dialogue and self-referential dialogue keeps the film weighed down to the ground, unable to soar and reach its Speed Racer/RRR dreams.

Two back-to-back prologues lay out every inch of backstory for Ryu (Andrew Koji) and Ken Masters (Noah Centinio). They both trained in hand-to-hand combat under the same master, whose eventual death led to the once-tight duo separating. Now, the nefarious M. Bison (David Dastmalchian) craves Psycho Power, which can only be obtained from the world’s greatest fighters. To secure that substance, he hosts the World Warrior Tournament, a competition Ryu, Ken, and various other fighters are all invited to.

This potentially fine action movie set-up suggests promise, as do some pleasing visual flourishes. Costume designer Kym Barrett and folks like hair & makeup artist Monika Bunic (among others) drape everyone in get-ups seemingly lifted wholesale from the Capcom game. With subplots like M. Bison’s helper Chun-Li (Callina Liang) secretly hankering for revenge against her boss firmly established, all systems seem to be go for some Bloodsport/Enter the Dragon exploits.

Alas, Street Fighter never actually puts its pedal to the punch-heavy metal. Writer/director Kitao Sakurai (who penned this script with T.J. Fixman) instead opts for flat scenes where characters restate their motivations or backstories. Incessant chatter even interrupts a Ryu/Blanka duel. Bizarre storytelling choices like keeping Ryu confined to a prison cell for much of the runtime further dilute opportunities for fun hand-to-hand skirmishes.

Sakurai and Fixman also have a terrible problem of not letting uber-theatrical scenes play out without some kind of self-referential comment. For instance, an early Ken moment where he laments how much he misses his master and wants to beat Ryu is accompanied by a swelling, angsty tune. Eventually, Chun-Li literally pauses the track before delivering an “I’m still here!” comment, capsizing the sequence’s emotions. It’s like if the one good Daredevil scene, the “Bring Me to Life” montage, ended with Joe Pantaliano’s Ben Urich pausing a record player and going, “what is this Evanescence bullshit?”

If we’re doing angst, let’s get angsty! Where’s the creative conviction underlying the great queer movies? Alas, difficulty committing to the sincere permeates Street Fighter. A climactic song-oriented tender moment between Ken and Ryu can’t even transpire without Chun-Li and Dan (Andrew Schulz) making jokes about how “male friendships are very complicated.” Not only do these punchlines undercut any creative confidence, but they’re also tired. Is anyone going to laugh at Balrog (Curits “50 Cent” Jackson) delivering an inadvertent masturbation reference punctuated by a diegetic record scratch? Constant refrains of “um, that was weird!” make getting swept up in madcap mayhem impossible.

Only WWE veteran Cody Rhodes (playing Guile) understands what these proceedings need. His unwavering commitment to his ludicrous costume or saying phrases like “tittyboy” with a straight face are incredibly enjoyable. Not so coincidentally, Guile is also the rare Street Fighter player to have no lengthy backstory. As a result, he just exists in all his farcical glory. That affords more room for a talented performer to entertain. This character, alas, isn’t in much of the film, especially when extra convoluted plot machinations begin dominating everything.

Sakurai and Fixman’s already barely held-together script devolves into outright incoherency once a prison break sequence abruptly begins. Suddenly, characters are hopping all over the place, everything becomes weightless, and M. Bison’s villainous presence is only erratically tangible. If these impulses served unforgettable action beats, eschewing connective tissue or any concrete storytelling sensibilities would be awesome. However, the fights that do emerge aren’t especially memorable in either their choreography or their filming. They’re mostly just CG-laden skirmishes lacking personality. This means there’s even less to distract viewers from the sloppily constructed screenwriting.

Eventually, Street Fighter peters out into an infuriating cliffhanger ending promising further adventures I have no desire to see. Save for a handful of successful absurdist comedy beats (like a cut to announcer Don Sauavge randomly playing a cello) harkening back to Sakurai’s infinitely more successful Eric André Show escapades or Cody Rhodes nailing it as Guile, this whole production is a wash. All those colorful and familiar costumes make it clear Street Fighter knows its source material well. Yet where’s the fun driving this franchise’s video game shenanigans?

Alas, such excitement is absent. All that’s left is another cautionary tale of straight people trying and failing to play in the Joel Schumacher/Wachowski Sister sandbox. Those queer filmmakers adhered to a slightly different version of Wu-Tang Clan’s C.R.E.A.M.: “Confidence Rules Everything Around Me.” Alas, this new and deeply heterosexual Street Fighter doesn’t have nearly enough chutzpah to translate its silly ambitions into something lastingly entertaining.

Street Fighter is now landing blows in theaters everywhere.