Movie review: Rambo

by John P. Meyer

In 2006, at the age of sixty, Sylvester Stallone reanimated his undead Rocky franchise with a film he called simply Rocky Balboa, eschewing any numerical reference. (It was the sixth screen outing for the laconic absorber of punches, who first stepped into the cinematic ring way back in - Yikes! - 1976.)

Now an entrenched sexagenarian, the miraculously-well-preserved, battle-scarred veteran of more than just punches has chosen to dredge up another character from his glory days repertoire: that of John Rambo, last encountered in the previous century (1998) in a little film called - ah - Rambo III. So the latest outing (which Sly both co-wrote and directed) would have been "Rambo IV," if the producers (including Sly) hadn't in a fit of caprice decided to just call it... dramatic pause... Rambo.

(They can do this because the first movie in the franchise - circa 1982 - adopted the title of the David Morrell novel from which the main character sprang: First Blood.)

Now, I'm going to tell you in case you aren't already clued in that Rambo movies are all about body count. If you go to a movie with "Rambo" in the title expecting constraint and character development you need to have your head examined, preferably before a razor-tipped arrow pierces it. Thus, when one of my fellow critics (as we chatted before the screening of a little art-house flick) commenced bemoaning the level of ghastly violence on display in the latest Rambo, I lurched away in befuddlement - c'mon, man, we're talking Rambo here: the ex-Green Beret one-man killing machine with a well-documented history of violence and nothing but. When you've purchased your ticket and entered the Rambozone, OF COURSE you're going to wind up experiencing a special effects bloodbath of epic proportions! If you didn't, you'd know that something was terribly out of kilter in the cosmos.

There are only two questions any savvy filmgoer need ask about the latest Rambo:

1. Can a 62-year-old Sylvester Stallone still be made to appear to be kicking the asses of vast quantities of evil dudes, and do it sans walker? And...

2. What sort of weaponry does he deploy?

Answer to first question: yes.

Answer to second question: a) an anonymous auto pistol; b) a bow and razor-tipped arrows; c) his bare hand; d) a claymore mine (plus ingeniously-selected improvised enhancement feature); and finally e) a truck-mounted Browning .50 cal. machine gun - with tracers.

What, you want more? O.K., there is a rudimentary plot designed to string together the abundant episodes of dismemberment, geysering blood and cringe-inducing carnage, and it involves a group of missionaries who charter John Rambo's thatched-roof Thailand-based riverboat to take them upstream into bloody Burma (aka Myanmar), home of (the movie would have us believe) a particularly bloodthirsty warlord and his trained killer army, whose cruelties (and those of his army) are documented for us in gruesome detail. We need to be clear before we subject them to Rambification: these dudes are E-V-I-L.

For his part, John R. has reached that stage of life where he just wants to kick back and take it easy, operating his boat mostly to employ a couple of local villagers and and bowfish off the prow. He also makes the odd baht or two by capturing deadly cobras with his bare hands for a local tourist snakepit show operator. The cobras don't seem to want to bite him, no matter how ineptly he handles them. (Stupid cobras.)

Enter a group of good-hearted, addle-brained missionaries from a church in Colorado, who apparently haven't been watching the same newsreels we sat through during the opening credits, which make Burma look like one of the inner circles of Hell. They just want to do good for people, dammit, with their Bibles and field doctoring and lessons on God's love - why won't mean old Rambo (whose stated philosophy is "fuck the world") consent to motor them on up there?

Because - as he explains to them (in three words or less) - unless they're smuggling in guns, they're not going to make any difference in the outcome of Burmese events. The fact that he turns out to be right sort of blows a big logical hole in the semblance of a story line, but let's proceed anyway.

What finally swings him around to shepherding them upriver are the ardent good-hearted humanitarian arguments presented to him on a couple of rain-soaked occasions by the babelicious babe amongst the missionaries, Sarah (Julie Benz). She takes it upon herself to browbeat Rambo until he finally looks deep into his psyche and discovers either a) a semblance of hope in the possibility that humanity might contain an essence of good, or b) a marginally-suppressed desire to prong this tasty missionary babe. In either case, he's about to rock her missionary world.

By the time the movie's over (and - SPOILER! - the bad guys have been wiped out and both Rambo and Sarah remain standing), Sarah's reaction whenever she lays eyes on John is to break out in uncontrollable bouts of weeping. This is probably because, like a proud house cat, he tends to flaunt his killing abilities in front of her, alternately ripping out a captor's throat or shooting off portions of the skullplates of river pirates. (Is Sarah horrified by the violence, or by her own "can't turn away" train-wreck fascination with it? Are tears the only bodily fluids emitted during these orgasmic bloody frenzies? These are questions for - well - someplace other than here.)

Other players of note include Paul Schulze as Michael Burnett, who appears to be either Sarah's husband or boyfriend and is unequivocally the leader of the missionary band. Mr. Schulze excels at portraying sniveling do-gooders who believe in their hearts that violence has no place in a sane world, and then is forced to rethink his strategies in light of the world's insanity.

Graham McTavish plays Lewis, ex-SAS and leader of the band of young whipper-snapper mercenaries that the church hires to extract their captive missionaries. He disses Rambo until the latter demonstrates his amazing archery skills on the skulls of a contingent of bad guys, at which point he ratchets down the verbal abuse. Good plan.

Most of the other players are simply around to be blown apart by land mines, riddled with projectiles of various sorts or eaten alive by hogs, so I see no point in calling them by any name other than Raw Meat.

Judging by the greater-than-usual Friday morning theater attendance, there are plenty of people interested in getting a look at this latest re-imagining of a Stallone franchise legend. The fact that those who attended got what they were coming for (there were actual cheers in evidence during several extravagant displays of killing prowess), I predict a continuation of interest in the picture and crowds full of testosterone-buzzed patrons accompanied by the occasional date, wife or misguided non-violent missionary pal.

It should be noted that, out on the perimeter of future Stallone productions, a little title called Poe appears to be in the works, starring Viggo Mortensen as the gloomy raven-quoter. I have just two words for such an unlikely-sounding blend of culture and kitsch: HOLY SHIT!

WHO SAID BREATHING'S EASY?: "When you're pushed, killin's as easy as breathin'." - John Rambo

WATCH YOUR TONGUE, WISE GUY: "Oh, dear, you really are an uptight bastard, aren't you?" - Lewis to Rambo, before the latter demonstrates his mad skull-piercing archery skills.

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