The scene, which copies a bravura moment in Clint Eastwood’s “Two Mules for Sister Sara"-has Rambo bathed in a fiery light that makes him look like St. From a low angle, we watch a wounded Stallone writhe as he pulls a chunk of wood out of his midsection and then cauterizes the wound with gunpowder. One sequence in “Rambo III” is the quintessence of half-conscious camp. If Rambo and Trautman seem to be tight, this nefarious colonel seems infatuated with both of them his torture scenes are like electronic rapes. Zaysen seems to spend most of his time torturing Trautman-trying to squeeze out information on his Stinger missiles-or chasing Rambo in his helicopter. Zaysen (Marc de Jonge), who always has a chess game on his desk, and a scowl.
The fiends are faceless too-like ducks in a shooting gallery-and they’re led by Col. Then, apparently to demonstrate that the enemy are fiends who kill women and children, the women and children run out on cue to be killed. Hamid is a major child character, but we barely see any women until the Soviets mount an air attack on the rebel camp, in the middle of a buzkashi contest. In addition, he’s surrounded with lovable sidekicks: fatherly Trautman, the wily, wiry Mousa (Sasson Gabai), and a dewy-eyed orphan, Hamid (Doudi Shoua)-who looks like the old comic-strip refugee Dondi. He’s introduced as a handyman at a Thai Buddhist monastery-where he repairs the golden roofs and moonlights as a stick-fighter. Stallone’s close-ups and medium shots look as if they’re about to be stamped on commemorative coins.Īnd Stallone goes to preposterous lengths to make Rambo more lovable. When the star whirls into his first close-up, sweatband coiffing his curly mane above Paul McCartney-like bedroom eyes-ominous Jerry Goldsmith chords crash as if a moon were rising over Jupiter.įirst-time director Peter Macdonald-who handled the second-unit action work in “Rambo II"-frames him like a monolith or a mesa.
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The movie is mythic in an even bigger way than the last one. Sam Trautman (Richard Crenna), from sadistic Soviet captors, and beating the Soviet occupying army-with the help of local sidekicks and what looks like the Afghan rebel light cavalry. Here, he has a superficially easier assignment, rescuing his beloved mentor, Col. In “Rambo II,” Stallone’s stoic commando-in-spite-of-himself, on an MIA rescue mission, outfought the combined Soviet and Vietnamese forces almost single-handedly, after being betrayed by his own government. Like the more exciting “Rambo II,” “Rambo III"-silliest of the series-is a goofy, blood-drenched magnification of the movie before it. Stallone’s sequels often seem less like continuations than crazy daydreams that the characters in the previous movie are having. It’s both visually spectacular and genuinely ridiculous: a gigantically swollen self-parody, loaded with howlers, and an unconsciously camped-up homoerotic male-bonding adventure, rife with lunatic beefcake and grandiose phallic symbols. This third exploit of one-man attack squad John Rambo-spreading his worldwide vendetta to Afghanistan-may be, for some audiences, a real old-fashioned talk-back-to-the-screen picture. In its own immodest way, it’s a phenomenon.
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