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Date Posted: 16:52:15 06/17/01 Sun
Author: Griff
Subject: Scroll down arsewipe, there's a new post below this one! But for now, here's an un-spellchecked, probably completely shite review...


RAMBO III


“Who do you think this man is, God?”, asks the bad guy in Rambo III. “God would have mercy,” comes the reply. “He won’t.” He sure won’t, not for his enemies or the saddle-sore audiences lumbered with another gung-ho adventure for our indestructible hero. After defeating the Russian army in the last movie, Rambo (Sylvester Stallone) is found in a monastery and pressed back into service in order to rescue his old C.O. and love interest Colonel Trautman (Richard Crenna), who’s been captured in Afghanistan by Stallone’s favourite villains, the Russians.

So, this time it’s even more personal, not to mention even more plotless and lacking in credibility than before. Wading into the Russian troops practically single-handed, Rambo proceeds to gun everybody down, blow up helicopters, knock down planes with his fists, shoot laser beams from his eyes and tear up huge segments of the ground with his bare hands like The Incredible Hulk. It’s all the Russians can do to stare boggle-eyed as he cuts a swathe through their forces, stopping only to buddy up with a group of Afghan rebels and join in a charming game where they ride around on horses swinging a dead sheep about.

It’s all pretty much the same formula as before: enough testosterone to keep a sex-change clinic in business for years, all the muscular guys sweating away together as they indulge in plenty of homo-erotic military banter, and an emphasis on the film-makers’ delusion that explosions are interesting in and of themselves. The final onslaught jettisons any last shred of believability (that one tiny, tiny shred that clung on in there) and tediously grinds on to the noisy conclusion. Women don’t even cause a blip on the Rambo radar – this is the boys’ show all the way, with big guns, big tanks, big fireballs, big everything.

As Stallone’s one-dimensional character works his way through an entire arsenal, ending up with a bow and arrows (I was waiting for him to get out the pea shooter and catty), I was yawning away. The sun really had set on this kind of invincible-hero-kills-everyone action flick by 1988; with the saviour of the genre that was Die Hard mere months away when Rambo III opened, the character had worn out his welcome and seems pretty quaint now. This is another humourless, over-earnest, militaristic shoot-em-up that sneezes vaguely in the direction of the real-life conflict and has a caption dedicating the movie to the “gallant people of Afghanistan” or some such twaddle, as if this film has anything to do with a real war.



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