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Sylvester Stallone ratchets up the death toll, reprising his role as Rambo |
Rambo: the brawn identity is back!
RAMBO
Directed by SYLVESTER STALLONE
Certificate 18
SOMEONE actually found the time to tot up the body count in this fourth – and, one trusts, final – appearance of Sylvester Stallone as John Rambo, the Vietnam veteran “honed into a killing machine” and back where he belongs – in the jungle, dispatching the ungodly with assault rifle, knife or bow-and-arrow, and remaining impervious to pain and anything the enemy can throw at him.
Apparently the statistics work out at 2.59 deaths every minute, with our boy responsible for 83 single-handed. A far cry from First Blood back in 1982, which remains one of the all-time classic manhunt thrillers and, for me, never losing its impact no matter how many times I see it.
This is overkill on a ludicrous scale, and smacks of desperation. Shame, really – and I’m reminded that in First Blood Rambo never actually killed anyone.
This one takes the easy way out, simply turning the screen into a slaughterhouse. When the action starts to flag, just pick up a gun and start shooting.
Now aged 61, and meaty rather than muscular, Stallone today could never live up to Rambo’s past.
But here we are deep in Thailand, where he has been taking it easy, living a simple life in seclusion aboard an old boat he runs on the Salween river, which divides Thailand and Burma. We meet him catching a live cobra for a snake farm with his bare hands, proving that his reflexes are still good, even if he’s a bit out of practice after 20 years away from the action.
He is reluctantly persuaded back into the firing line by Christian missionaries (Graham McTavish and Julie Benz) to bring aid to oppressed peasants under the yoke of the brutal Burmese military, led by a sadistic colonel in forage cap and shades (Maung Khim).
The topicality gives added bite to the mission as Rambo assembles a motley group of mercenaries, but swiftly degenerates into something close to farce in a welter of severed limbs, decapitated heads and enough explosions to set your head ringing.
One strong point is the photography, creating a haunting vista of mist-shrouded rivers, paddy fields and dripping foliage that balances some of the absurdities of the action. But not enough.
It is apparent that Stallone decided his most memorable creation should go out not with a whimper. |
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