If you’ve been wondering what ever happened to ex–Green Beret superwarrior John Rambo since he singlehandedly shot up a Pacific Northwest town (First Blood, 1982), returned to the jungles of ‘Nam to free U.S. POWs held long after war’s end (Rambo: First Blood Part II, 1985), and interrupted the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan long enough to blow lots of stuff up and rescue his old commandant from the Reds (Rambo III, 1988), then Rambo (2008) is for you. Without so much as a IV to dilute the brand name, Rambo–which is what most of us called the second, most iconic film in the series–may aspire to open a new era for a pop legend. But it’s a thoroughly mechanical attempt to reanimate a franchise that, absent the anger, frustration, and self-loathing of the post-Vietnam years, has no meaning or purpose. For some time now Rambo (Sylvester Stallone) has been putt-putting along the Thai-Burmese border in a longboat, catching exotic snakes to sell. As for the 60-year civil war in Burma between the brutal government and the Karen independence movement, he ignores it. Enter a party of American missionaries whose dewy blond spokeswoman (Dexter’s Julie Benz) asks Rambo to haul them upriver so that they can bring medical aid to the insurgents. After the requisite number of monosyllabic refusals, he does. Soon afterward the do-gooders are in a world of hurt, and he’s summoned to lead a squad of mercenaries on a rescue mission.
As storytelling, the latest Rambo is the most bare-bones of the bunch. Rambo has little to say, so it’s especially galling that Stallone, as director and co-writer, obliges him to have essentially the same conversation at three different points (the final distillation: “Live for nothing or die for something”). The Burmese army goons seem in competition to commit the most hideous atrocity (e.g., child skull-crushing underfoot), the better to justify the eventual, lovingly protracted spectacle of them being eviscerated by high-powered weaponry. Although shot in Thailand, the movie has mostly been photographed in brown, reducing any particular sense of place but, perhaps, perversely increasing our gratitude for the splashes of purple whenever hot metal tatters flesh. –Richard T. Jameson
“Ali’s Dozen” highlights 12 significant rounds in the career of Muhammad Ali, from his Olympic Gold medal winning effort at the 1960 Olympics to his gutsy 15th round rally to win a close decision over Earnie Shavers in their 1977 battle at Madison Square Garden in New York.
But this 45 minute documentary also includes hours and hours of bonus features. It has the 1966 battle between Ali and Ernie Terrell in its entirety. It has all 15 rounds, the conversations between rounds, and post fight interviews. It is the closed circuit telecast, not one of those grainy Jim Jacobs films.
Moreover, you get Ali-Quarry I and Ali Williams in their entirety (courtesy of the aforementioned Jacobs and Cayton), plus highlights of Ali vs Zora Folley, his last fight before being exiled from boxing for 3 1/2 years.
It is rare to hear such polarization of opinions on a film that apparently didn’t ever open in the theaters. When the list of current fluff is surveyed – films not only with no storyline but no actors of any merit to propel what is not there – it makes you wonder ‘what happened?’ A great movie? No, but it is far above the things that draw massive crowds to the popcorn palaces. SHADE, as written and directed with aplomb by Damian Nieman, is another Con Artist/Grifter/Confidence Game story that just happens to be populated with a crew of excellent actors. This time it is about poker, this was a riveting and fascinating story. At last Stuart Townsend gets a chance to star as the main card shark and he handles his pivotal role with tremendous finesse. He is teamed with Gabriel Byrne and Thandie Newton in the near perfect con. The victims and other players include Jamie Foxx, Dina Merrill, Hal Holbrook, Melanie Griffith, and even Sylvester Stallone in a fine turn as the Dean of Cards. The card tricks are believably performed by the actors trained to the nines and the surprise ending is a real jolt, making you realize how easy it is to get caught up in the Grifter mindset. I think this is a polished little film that deserves more attention!
The adventures of pint-sized secret agents Juni and Carmen Cortes (Daryl Sabara and Alexa Vega) continue. As Spy Kids 3-D: Game Over opens, Juni has left the spy agency and launched a career as a private detective–but when he learns that his sister Carmen has disappeared into a nefarious multi-user computer game, he agrees to go in after her, with the assistance of his grandfather (Ricardo Montalban). Three-dimensional special effects launch us into a topsy-turvy world of battling robots, souped-up motorcycle races, frogs on pogo sticks, surfing on hot lava, and much, much more. The story is even more incoherent than an actual computer game–but the movie storms along, driven by writer/director/editor/everything-else Robert Rodriguez’s sheer visual enthusiasm. Featuring Sylvester Stallone, Antonio Banderas, Carla Gugino, and everyone else who appeared in the first two Spy Kids movies. –Bret Fetzer
Sylvester Stallone spins a lighter, more romantic version of his tough guy image in Avenging Angelo. For his entire life, Frankie (Stallone) has been protecting Jennifer (Madeleine Stowe), the daughter of a mob boss named Angelo (Anthony Quinn)–but she doesn’t know it, any more than she knows that Angelo is her father. When Angelo gets hit, Frankie reveals the truth. Having just caught her husband with another woman, Jennifer isn’t receptive to the rest of her life upended; but after accepting her heritage, she decides to avenge her father. If none of this sounds particularly funny, well, it isn’t; the problem is, it’s supposed to be. Avenging Angelo flounders in search of a coherent comic tone and never finds it. Stowe is always engaging and Stallone’s softer touch is surprisingly appealing, but not a moment of this dopey script makes any sense. –Bret Fetzer
A brutal serial killer is targeting cops, and detective Jake Malloy is on the warpath. But now the killer is making it personal, and this dedicated agent is twisted in an emotional nightmare. Time is running out, and so are the options as Malloy engages in an extreme game of cat-and-mouse with a killer who won’t be stopped. Sylvester Stallone leads an all-star cast, including Tom Berenger (Training Day), Charles Dutton (A Time to Kill), Sean Patrick Flanery (The Boondock Saints), Robert Patrick (“The X-Files”), Jeffrey Wright (Shaft) and Kris Kristofferson (Blade II).
Motorsport movies have a lousy track record, so it’s not surprising that Driven joins the ranks of previous race-car clunkers like Grand Prix, Le Mans, Bobby Deerfield, and Days of Thunder. To varying degrees, all of these films offer spectacular racing footage (especially Le Mans), but what is surprising is that Driven was written by its star and coproducer Sylvester Stallone, who shows virtually no sign of the talent that created Rocky over a quarter-century earlier. Under the tepid direction of Renny Harlin, this superficial speedfest fulfills its primary obligation–the racing sequences are adequately exciting, despite the Cuisinart editing and a glaring lack of kinetic continuity. But whenever this adrenaline-pumped drama gets off the track, well… let’s just say it’s a hybrid of Top Gun and Days of Thunder, but makes those Tom Cruise vehicles look masterful by comparison.
Stallone’s a retired Grand Prix champion, called back into action by his disabled crew chief (Burt Reynolds) to boost the career of a hotshot driver (Kip Pardue, the pretty-boy from Remember the Titans) who’s trailing a German ace (charismatic Til Schweiger) in the current 20-race season. The female contingent consists of a reporter (Stacy Edwards, too talented for this tripe) who’s writing about “male domination in sports”; Stallone’s embittered, remarried ex-wife (Gina Gershon, parodying her bitchy persona); and the requisite kewpie doll (Estella Warren) who comes between Boy Wonder and the reigning champ. It’s airhead melodrama all the way, so you’d better enjoy the breakneck racing scenes–including a ludicrous prototype-racer joyride through downtown Chicago–or you’ll blow a piston on your straightaway sprint to the bad-movie finish line. –Jeff Shannon
The original Get Carter (1971), directed by Croupier’s Mike Hodges, starred Michael Caine as Jack Carter, a mob enforcer who returns to his hometown after the suspicious death of his brother. The plot had a breezy, improvised feel and Caine was fantastic, an amoral man who would sleep with any girl or torture any guy to get what he wants. In this American remake, Sylvester Stallone plays a sanitized version of Jack Carter, a guy who is violent but ultimately moral. It doesn’t work nearly as well. The whole movie seems like it’s been crafted around the Stallone persona, which gives it a manufactured rather than spontaneous feel. Admittedly, that is not helped by the film-school pyrotechnics of director Stephen Kay, who fills the frame with so much unnecessary camera movement that it really feels like he spent more time setting up the camera shots than he did on the script. Moving the story from a small town north of London to Seattle works better because of the subplot concerning Internet porn, of which Seattle is a virtual hotbed. The downside is that it allows for Alan Cumming’s portrayal of a Bill Gates-like billionaire as a near-retarded boy-child. Other actors fare better with their roles, particularly Rachel Leigh Cook and Mickey Rourke, though Michael Caine’s presence only serves to draw unfair comparisons to the original. That said, if you watch both versions you will learn more about the state of Hollywood at the turn of the millennium than with a year’s subscription to Variety. –Andy Spletzer
After making a critically acclaimed debut with the low-budget independent drama Heavy, writer-director James Mangold took on this gritty crime drama, which was highly touted as Sylvester Stallone’s long-awaited return to a serious dramatic role. With an illustrious cast of costars, including GoodFellas alumni Robert De Niro, Harvey Keitel, and Ray Liotta, Stallone plays Freddy Heflin, the ineffectual sheriff of a New Jersey suburb that a group of corrupt New York cops have turned into their own off-duty criminal empire. Deaf in one ear and desperate to prove his worth, the sheriff takes on the cops with standoffish assistance from an Internal Affairs cop (De Niro), resulting in an explosive climactic showdown. The stellar cast can’t be beat, and Stallone is quite good as the overweight cop whose pride is on the line. Mangold’s script is wildly uneven, but the film still packs a white-knuckled punch. –Jeff Shannon
This echo of 1970s disaster films stars Sylvester Stallone as the disgraced former head of New York City’s Emergency Medical Services, a loser who is nevertheless a compulsive rescuer of people in danger. When the Holland Tunnel is sealed off after a fiery explosion and car passengers are trapped within, he goes inside and leads a group of survivors (a mixed group allegorically representing America’s diversity) through all manner of pestilence toward safety. Directed by the imaginative Rob Cohen (Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story), Daylight finds Stallone outrageously (and to almost campy effect) pushing the envelope of his martyr persona to near-religious levels. He throws himself, quite literally, into this part, and between that entertainment factor and the unnervingly convincing effects, this is a pretty watchable film. The collector’s edition DVD release has optional widescreen and standard (pan and scan) versions, optional Spanish subtitles, and Dolby soundtrack. –Tom Keogh
If you’ve been wondering what ever happened to ex–Green Beret superwarrior John Rambo since he singlehandedly shot up a Pacific Northwest town (First Blood, 1982), returned to the jungles of ‘Nam to free U.S. POWs held long after war’s end (Rambo: First Blood Part II, 1985), and interrupted the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan long enough to blow lots of stuff up and rescue his old commandant from the Reds (Rambo III, 1988), then Rambo (2008) is for you. Without so much as a IV to dilute the brand name, Rambo–which is what most of us called the second, most iconic film in the series–may aspire to open a new era for a pop legend. But it’s a thoroughly mechanical attempt to reanimate a franchise that, absent the anger, frustration, and self-loathing of the post-Vietnam years, has no meaning or purpose. For some time now Rambo (Sylvester Stallone) has been putt-putting along the Thai-Burmese border in a longboat, catching exotic snakes to sell. As for the 60-year civil war in Burma between the brutal government and the Karen independence movement, he ignores it. Enter a party of American missionaries whose dewy blond spokeswoman (Dexter’s Julie Benz) asks Rambo to haul them upriver so that they can bring medical aid to the insurgents. After the requisite number of monosyllabic refusals, he does. Soon afterward the do-gooders are in a world of hurt, and he’s summoned to lead a squad of mercenaries on a rescue mission.
