Vin Diesel tried to save us from this. After his 2002 flying car-exploding helicopter flick, “XXX,” became a blockbuster, a sequel was inevitable. But the man with the million-dollar biceps did a noble thing: He walked. No mere human can stop the sequel machine, however, and so MTV’s Revolution Studios set Ice Cube to pumping iron and green-lit “XXX: State of the Union,” a movie so desperate to be exciting that even its explosion sequences have explosion sequences.

“XXX” is a covert government spy shop, its headquarters (“Cleopatra 2525”) located deep beneath a barn, vulnerable only to super-ninjas. Unfortunately, super-ninjas are exactly who come gunning for agency head Augustus Gibbons (Samuel L. Jackson). Fortunately, there’s a secret Samuel L. Jackson escape tube, and he zips away while debating the recasting issue.

“We need a new Triple X,” he muses, sounding like a studio head. “Someone out of the box, someone with attitude.” Cue Ice Cube, locked up in prison for the crime of caring too much: When his commanding officer ordered him to kill civilians, he fought the power and wound up in the brig.

His former commanding officer, George Deckert (Willem Dafoe), is now the secretary of defense, and when Mr. Dafoe sits on the president’s cabinet, you know a coup d’etat cannot be far behind. Mr. Jackson visits Mr. Cube in prison, and the two men project so much bad-itude that Mr. Jackson has no choice but to free him so that they can go on a mission to stop Mr. Dafoe from executing some evil plan.

The movie doesn’t insult the audience’s intelligence by ever explaining Mr. Dafoe’s nefarious plot. Indeed, it’s refreshingly honest about the motivations of its audience: We just want to see things blow up. A car, a tank, a secret presidential bullet train, a sports-utility vehicle, the Capitol, some boats, and a lot of dirt all blow up before the movie draws to its sequel-ready conclusion.

At times, Ice Cube’s ghetto glower excites vehicles so much that they spontaneously explode and hurl themselves into the sky when he walks by. But the movie plays too fast and loose with the laws of physics to work up much excitement. Bullets shot by bad guys always miss, those shot by good guys don’t. Massive explosions gently bump people into the air, as if they were playful goats. Cars smash through buildings with a slight jiggle of the camera.

Action has no heft in “XXX: State of the Union.” There are no emotions, no consequences, no believability. That’s a long way of saying it feels like a James Bond film.

But with the James Bond franchise on a feeding tube, the world needs another international super-spy, and Hollywood has come up with two. While the “Bourne” movies execute the cliches of the Bond movies with deadly earnestness, the makers of “XXX: State of the Union” have decided to deliver the preposterous thrills of 1970s blaxploitation cinema with utter seriousness.

Ice Cube plays gangsta so hard that it has to be a put-on. He reminds you of Rudy Ray Moore, whose foulmouthed, oversexed character, Dolemite, was a blaxploitation cartoon, a send-up of the genre. Mr. Dafoe’s evil mastermind is an isolationist hawk, who hates the peace-loving, internationalist president. The black characters are cool cats who take care of business, while whitey yammers and frets.

The best (and possibly only) joke in the movie comes when Mr. Cube has to attend a black-tie function. He puts on a tuxedo and goes not as a champagne-swilling swell but as a waiter. It’s a clever spin on a classic Bond scenario – our Anglo hero undercover in high society – and it’s the only time you remember that the director of this film is Lee Tamahori, who first found fame with his Maori melodrama “Once Were Warriors.”

Blaxploitation movies were popular because they were refreshingly tasteless and full of blood, drugs, and sex. “XXX: State of the Union” has none of these. Despite being a parody of action heroes, Mr. Moore’s Dolemite had more brass than Ice Cube’s XXX does. He laid down heavy-duty scrump on any woman who crossed his path, white or black.

In these more culturally conservative times, Ice Cube exchanges a few clunky innuendos with the movie’s white lady, then he asks her to make him a snack and heads off to take a bath. He’s as chaste and unthreatening as a PG-13 gelding.