Ramb-over and out

Not one for scaremongering, but has anyone else noticed that the end of the world is decidedly much less cinematic than 80s action taught us to expect? I write this on day one of the UK's half-arsed lock down, where rather than armed military welding us into our homes we have the policy equivalent of 10 day old lettuce, limply advising us to not go out whilst simultaneously advising businesses not to shut. It's some sort of hybrid of a stiff upper lip and a wobbly bottom one and as helpful as neither. So while I was working out how to process all this nonsense (I'm vulnerable because my pancreas is a dickhead and my lungs have been weak sauce on and off for 25 years) I decided to watch something that was hopefully fun, mildly distracting and contained no mention of any sort of global pandemic. Worked a bit well it seems, seeing as I completely lost track of time and Monday came and went. Sorry about that.

There is no denying that Rambo: First Blood is an absolute classic and it shames me to say I'd never actually seen it until only a few years ago. It's a relatively serious, low key action movie that somehow spawned two utterly preposterous sequels (where Rambo slowly but surely metamorphosed from PTSD stricken war vet to unstoppable one man army) before being revived 20 years later in a fantastically blood soaked violence-fest so hardcore it had needed no tagline and simply went by Rambo. 2019 appears to be the line drawn in the sand for the titular hero in the imaginatively titled s Rambo: Last Blood. 

Let's get something out of the way early on: this is not, and was never going to be a smart movie with clever subplots, intricate twists or the intention of subverting any genre tropes. Go into it expecting nuance and frankly, you deserve to go away feeling bad, hanging your head in shame and destined for unabashed and thoroughly deserved ridicule. This is a Rambo movie, the Ronseal of action cinema; it does exactly what it says on the tin. 

In essence, the Rambo franchise is now closer to horror than anything else, except the invulnerable monster is a righteous force for justice and good (wait, did they actually subvert a trope? Did I just play myself?) making gooey messes out of an unending stream of largely interchangeable bad guys. Plot wise, Last Blood is essentially Liam Neeson's Taken condensed into about 20 minutes, minus the tension and happy ending and then an hour of Sylvester Stallone mumbling incoherently at people before introducing them to various pointy, slicey or ballistic-y pieces of metal. Whilst you're watching it, that isn't really much of a problem, but looking back on it it feels less like a solid movie than a series of largely forgettable scenes of bland dialogue designed to move to the next set piece. Sly's daughter/niece gets kidnapped in Mexico by pimps and it takes him literally two seconds to find them; doesn't work out great for our outnumbered hero and he needs rescuing by a random nearby journalist. Once he gets a little bit of slightly too easy revenge (I'll admit I wasn't expecting any grisly decapitations, but here we are) it's similarly super easy for them to find him. Nobody appears to have any trouble whatsoever getting guns or giant hunting knives across the Mexican border which may or may not be factually accurate actually, who knows nowadays. The finale though is basically the final fight from Predator crossed up with the mansion assault from Commando and is as completely absurd as that sounds. This is Rambo in all his violent glory and if this truly is his last outing, is there a better way of bowing out than literally pulling a guys heart out of his chest and showing it to him as he dies? No. The answer is no. 

All these uber violent frolics aside, this does seem like the right time for Rambo to lay down his arms. I don't know if it's a deliberate acting choice, but Sly sounds like he's taken a few too many blows to the head over the years; his voice throughout the movie is a barely audible slur and as menacing as that is when he's pulling some guys clavicle out of his shoulder with his bare hands, it doesn't lend itself to clearly enunciated Shakespearean prose. Not that I'm likely to say that to his face mind you, the guy's older than my Dad and is still jacked. 

Last Blood is fun, particularly if you're already a fan of either the character or the genre. It's not big, not clever and not subtle at all but why on earth would you want any of those things when you can have Sly chasing a drug cartel's private army around his own maze of tunnels turning them into faceless piles of sloppy entrails? The ultimate travesty of course, is that there is no red head band this time out, so maybe the whole thing is just a waste of time, energy and digitally rendered arterial spray.