There's really little to say to a franchise spinning itself out needlessly. Then again, Predators opened in cinemas last week and I'm about to review that so maybe something needs to be said about this lukewarm sophomore effort of Stallone's Rambo tetralogy.
The grand shame in this film is its promising start. John Rambo (Sylvester Stallone), hardcore Vietnam veteran, is brought out of retirement and a hard labour penal sentence to return to 'Nam on a reconnaissance mission to locate POWs. Not only does the mission go drastically wrong, but the film starts to appear like it might have something to say about the vilification of the veterans back home in the United States.... until Sly decides he's done with orders, he's done with kit, he's done with clothes. All hell breaks loose.
Sadly it's not very well-choreographed hell. Nor is it underpinned by any kind of feeling or indeed even a semblance of reason. Rambo becomes superhuman just at the moment we hope to break through his untouchable army-hardman facade. The cast around him do little to emphasise his own emotional detachment; no robot stands out amongst robots. A love interest is meaninglessly tossed aside; the rogue general who's orchestrating the whole thing, or even the arrival of Russians (gasp!), does little to lift the madness above the mediocre. Even Trautman (Richard Crenna), Rambo's immediate superior, who played the trickster role in the first film, is barely one-dimensional here.
I can't say I expected better. But I was surprisingly disappointed by how woefully off-track this second Rambo managed to get in 90 minutes.
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1985
Sylvester Stallone, Richard Crenna
dir. George P. Cosmatos
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