Charlie’s Angels Full Throttle fully accelerates whilst narratively stuck in second gear. Can I order a McG sandwich please? Huh? You have no filling? Sure, I’ll just take the overly stylised sauce. My personal adoration for this sequel’s predecessor is one that cannot be described fully without tackling the realms of lunacy and diminishing my own critical insight. It’s just a special piece of camp nostalgia for me, even if its construction is more amateurish than Diaz’ dance moves. Interestingly, this continuation was also on repeat as I galloped around the room to the soundtrack of The Prodi...