Rambo

It’s been a very, very long time since I regretted that a film about nothing other than killing isn’t longer. The last Rambo is a B-movie with Russian digital effects shrouded in nostalgia that is more physically intense than any megalomaniacal blockbuster by Michael Bay. Two spectacular scenes (the first ascent with a bow, the bomb), perfect genre purity and the character of John Rambo – that’s what it’s all about and it’s more than enough. “Don’t say anything and just go.” Nothing more needs to be said about the closing musical motif by Jerry Goldsmith. Had Stallone added more minutes and developed the characters more, this could have been the best action film of the year. (02/25/2008)

Sly did it again. Rambo is back and, just like Rocky, he was treated to a very honorable end (even though, who knows, they say that number five is a sure thing). Stallone brought with him heaps of good actors, familiar faces from other series (Rita from Dexter will be winking out at you, as well as Ryan Chapelle from 24 and we also find out where that soldier who was bullying Desmond on the training field in Lost ended up :-)) and he did good, because they cover his back without tripping him up much. Some philosophizing at the beginning which we saw in the trailers already, we go on a journey to places where no normal person would go on vacation (pigs eat people there, not the other way round), the terrifying landscape decorated with rotting bodies and heads on stakes simply swallows you in. The action scenes are raw and bloody, perhaps more than we were used to in previous Rambos), but darn powerful (the mine and the final “shootout" are definitely the pinnacle of the entire picture). Stallone as a director knows very well what he wants to achieve and has no problem in sticking to it while grabbing the attention. The circle closes as such a matter of course that I take my hat off to him. The end is also really nostalgic and that always gets to a real fan. A large contribution was also made by perfect music from Bryan Tyler who put the main musical theme to excellent use. (03/26/2008)

Sylvester Stallone is a special case. He started as an actor in a pornographic film and the professional critique expresses itself about him in the style of "master of monosyllabic sentences" or "master of one expression," but Stallone doesn't mind at all, and neither do his fans. For his work in front of the camera, which I wouldn't call acting, he has received an incredible amount of Golden Raspberries for worst acting performances. He has won it ten times and has been nominated thirty times. Among other things, I think he won one for Rambo 2. He is an honorable holder of the title of Worst Actor of the Century. Even the first Rambo movie is rough in terms of his acting performance, but it was compensated by a relatively decent screenplay that dealt with the post-war syndrome, and several character actors were involved. This Rambo has none of that; it's unnecessary to talk about the screenplay. The acting performances are practically non-existent, and the whole film can be reduced to an endless series of fight scenes in the most fairy-tale-like spirit of action movies. I didn't enjoy this kind of fairy-tale story for adults even when I was fifteen. It lacks even the slightest satire or realism. It's just a celebration of killing. It has relatively decent camera work and editing, so I'll give it one star for that. Overall impression: 15%. This kind of film is interesting more from a sociological point of view. People go to see it for the same reason that viewers once flocked to gladiator matches or why professional boxing or wrestling matches are so popular. It's not worth pondering why such productions have such high ratings and effortlessly defeat Oscar-winning films; it's more proof that any rankings are purely indicative, and one must continuously engage their brain. (03/10/2008)

A bloody band aid on the helplessness, suffocated hatred and frustration one experiences when watching more and more haunting scenes of genocide. Sly knows the artery of the action genre well and knows that when a person cuts into the right place, then the spilled blood and the lively flying intestines can have a strong therapeutic effect. All the more so because their authorship is the work of a man for whom war was the only known home. I appreciate how little Rambo bets on nostalgia – such conceived action in the 1980s would stand up only in the dream of a mad butcher – how little excess psychology we find in the film, and how few moral questions we can find. It's as bloody as the Old Testament, ethically, of course, completely crazy, yet cleansing and literally pressurized by the most idiotic and most seductive heroic romanticism. Rambo looking down on the battlefield (and his out-of-war defeat) is one of the best images of the series. The series went through some correctness to mature into a delicate meat cut, which is best described by John's "fuck the world". It's all about feeling, and mine was very euphoric watching Rambo. It's completely idiotic at its core, but it's not really about the core. (08/09/2010)

It is evident that Rambo's pump is working for now, he doesn't need a cardiologist and he’s aging with his own grace, i.e. he doesn't argue with it in any way and takes it with gusto. The problem is that from the second episode it follows the same routine (with minor nuances): somewhere something has gone wrong, Rambo is asked for help, he flinches for a while, but then in a fit of altruism he gives in and a liberating, uncompromising fight ensues until the closing credits. Obviously it would be naive to expect anything else from him, but for me, the same tea, brewed for the third time, just doesn't taste as it should. That something is a "total carnage" and "slaughter" is no measure of the quality of a film, although I admit that the rawness, filthiness and to some extent realism of the action is probably unparalleled in the current cinematic mainstream. In fact, if I wanted to make a comparison, Rambo's final "heavy machine gun sermon" looks like a short sequence from Saving Private Ryan (the moment when the landing boat opens up on Omaha Beach and the soldiers inside are under machine gun fire), except that here it is stretched out to about 10 minutes, with all clean gunshots and falling body parts, which gives it a surreal dimension that cannot be taken seriously. For lovers of brutal action sequences, this must be nirvana. PS: If this film pissed off the real Burmese despotic junta, I'd give it 10 stars. (03/01/2008)