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It’s been two whole decades since Sly Stallone’s John Rambo last hit the big screen. And though Rambo is now old enough to get the seniors’ discount at the army surplus store, I wouldn’t recommend cracking any jokes about his age—because he could still rip you apart with his bare hands.
Though his tour of duty ended ages ago, John Rambo is still in Asia, wrangling venomous snakes in Thailand. But he knows his way around the rivers—so when some missionaries from Colorado arrive to bring medicine to the people in war-torn Burma, they’re told to find Rambo. Reluctantly—after a bit of convincing by beautiful blonde Sarah (Julie Benz)—he agrees to guide them through the dangerous, pirate-infested waters, and he delivers them safely to their destination. But when the missionaries later go missing, he’s once again asked to travel back up to Burma—this time, with a group of mercenaries who’ve been hired to find the missionaries and bring them back.
Let’s start with the obvious here, shall we? It’s no surprise that Rambo isn’t a work of cinematic brilliance. In fact, it’s pretty much as ridiculous as they come—and it’s exactly what I expected it to be. The plot (and I use the word “plot” here extremely loosely) is weak—and tissue-thin. The dialogue (the few parts that involve more than just grunts and unintelligible mumbling) is barely coherent. And the directing is so shaky that it’ll make your head spin. Sometimes, it feels like someone accidentally hit the fast-forward button in the projection room.
But nobody’s going to see Rambo for its smart, edgy screenwriting or its thought-provoking story. When it comes to Rambo, it’s all about the schlock value.
Granted, Rambo isn’t an hour and a half of Stallone blowing stuff up. It opens with a bit of a story—and just a touch of manly drama. There’s even a little bit of suspense. But when Rambo decides to start blowing stuff up, there’s no messing around. There are flying severed limbs. There are exploding heads. There are gallons and gallons and gallons of fake blood. And there are explosions so powerful that your insides will quiver. And there’s nothing artistic about it. It’s shocking and corny, with all the subtlety and finesse of an ‘80s horror movie—and all that makes it irresistibly craptastic.
Rambo definitely isn’t the movie for everyone—but it’s like catnip for adrenaline junkies. It’s not a good movie—but it’s definitely an entertaining one. It’s the kind of movie that’ll make you laugh until tears roll down your cheeks—and when it’s all over, it’ll make you want to go out and blow something up. If you love over-the-top action movies, slam a couple of Red Bulls and hit the theater. If not, be sure to steer clear of the theater parking lot when this one lets out—because I doubt if there’s anything more dangerous than a theater full of adrenaline junkies on Red Bull and Rambo.
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