Rambo: Last Blood
Fuck all the crybabies bitching and moaning about how sad and scary it is that school kids have to endure "active shooter drills." Try cowering under your desk worried about the entire goddamn world ending during regularly scheduled nuclear fucking war drills, you pussies!
For kids that went to bed every night with visions of mushroom clouds dancing in their heads, Sylvester "I Did Porn" Stallone's John Rambo made for one fucked up security blanket. Rambo is a PTSD-suffering, 'roided out killing machine, and his five flicks hold a funhouse mirror up to America's foreign policy fears and fantasies.
1982's First Blood introduced Rambo as a scruffy Vietnam vet wandering the country and just wanting to be left alone. A hateful small town sheriff makes the mistake of arresting and tormenting Rambo for no good reason. Rambo escapes, goes all Special Forces on everyone's asses, and teaches the bullies with badges some very painful lessons.
Three years later in Rambo: First Blood Part II, America's avenging angel got to exorcise some patriotic demons by freeing forgotten prisoners of war in Vietnam, killing copious Charlies along the way. 1988's Rambo III sent Rambo to Afghanistan to help the Mujahideen battle the Russkies, and it's hilarious if only because the role of foreign invaders in that country has been played by U.S. troops since 2001. A decade later, Rambo took on the Burmese army in Rambo, which dialed down the politics and cranked up the blood and gore.
Now, Rambo is back in the most awesomely obviously-titled movie ever, Rambo: Last Blood. You know, because it's supposedly the last one in the franchise, although ol' Cinemavenger wouldn't bet a used raincoat that's really true. This time around, Rambo takes on Trump's vision of drug dealing, rapist Mexicans who've kidnapped his friend and/or housekeeper's niece for their sex slave biz. Finally fighting on his home turf, Rambo goes all hard-R Kevin McCallister on the south of the border sickos. If Last Blood wasn't so genius, they'd have to have called it Rambo-me Alone.
Rambo's knife, which got laughably larger through each of the first three flicks, is down to a non-comical size. His mullet, which also Jiffy Popped to Stamosian proportions in the earlier movies, has gone the way of the Berlin Wall. But the marble-mouthed murderer is still offing bad guys in insanely creative and incredibly graphic ways
Nothing is over! Except for this review.
September 20, 2019