Nobody in their right mind would fuck with Mel Gibson, is what The Duke has deduced from centuries of committed research. Didn't you see The Passionate Christ or whatever? You saw what that Gibson maniac is capable of.
Whipping, flailing, making a fella fall down at least two dozen times, spitting on his face, having a crow poke a fella's eyes out. This kinda shit awaits anyone daft enough to cross the mean sonna bitch. You better hope to God you don't give him no reason to be disgruntled, or next thing anyone knows it's gonna be blue streaks across the face and riding into your bedroom on horseback to smack a mace into your slumbering skull.
The no-good gangster types in Payback, Brian Helgeland's 1999 masterpiece (even though he walked before the flick was finished), they obviously don't pay much attention to the world of filmic affairs. Maybe they could say something along the lines of "How the hell were we to know? That Jesus flick wasn't out for another five years, man!", but The Duke, just like Mel, don't have no truck with this kinda lackadaisical approach to the old foresight.
What Payback concerns itself with is that Mel Gibson is a mean motherfucker by the name of Porter. I used to know a fella called Porter in high school, and whilst he could certainly bash out a fair old rhythm on the drum-kit, he was no match for Gibson in the beating-folks-fuckless stakes.
Porter gets double-crossed and so on, made to look like a damn fool, on account of his criminal buddy and his philandering wife, the woman from Crash, try to kill his guts off, and all for the sake of 70 grand.
What they didn't count on, was that Mel Gibson was the star of this film, and that this incident happens, like, ten minutes in. Maybe they were hoping for some Hitchcock-esque shocking shenanigans, and that Gibson would really die so as the audience could gasp and open their eyes real wide and all sorts of kooky shit, but no.
Even Hitchcock wouldn't have had the gargantuan testes required for to fling Gibson into a shower twenty minutes in and then have the fuck stabbed out of him by some skinny runt dressed in his momma's finest.
"Go fuck yourself, Hitchcock", Gibson would most certainly have spat right onto his face. He might have nailed him to some wood then and maybe scourged the bejeesus out of him with any manner of rods and whips.
Gibson gets the bullets taken out of him by some whiskey-drenched doctor or other, probably the kinda fella who wouldn't think twice about adjusting a man's jawline so as the cops can't get him for the twenty-six homicides he pulled off just this week. He's got the ethics of a Hutt, is what, and so he has no problem putting a sadistic, psychopathic motherfucker like Gibson back on the streets.