I went to see Rambo last night, and after reading a lot of reviews I didn't really take my seat with high hopes. After watching Stallone put his iconic boxer to rest last year in Rocky Balboa I had my fingers crossed that John J. would walk off into the sunset with some kind of dignity intact.
Simply put, it was the most brutal, hard-hitting war movie I have ever seen, and made the beach landing from Saving Private Ryan look like a tea party at Barbie's house. Don't believe what you may have read - Stallone still cuts it as an action hero, despite being sixty-ish as he runs through the Burmese jungles and severs limbs.
Not a first-date movie, and don't go expecting much light relief either. There is no romantic sub-plot, in fact, not much of a plot at all. But really, what did you expect? Anyone who goes into it twiddling their thumbs waiting for Dickens has only themselves to blame. It's a balls-to-the-wall action flick, and Stallone doesn't pretend otherwise.
Sure, it has its roots in the real conflicts going on as I write in the Far East, but thakfully Sly is clever enough not to belabor the point. He knows that most people are there for the blood 'n' guts, not the newsreel, but if you want, you can get your head around the current affairs as well.
It's a fitting end to the franchise. Rocky would be proud.
Now, where's Tango & Cash II?
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