A Bit of the Old Ultra-violence: “The Expendables” Review

(Disclaimer: I’m going to try really hard to avoid turning this review into some kind of essay on violence in film. Suffice it to say, in principle, I don’t have a problem with violence in film. I do, however, have a problem with the current state of film ratings, wherein fairly extreme violence doesn’t necessarily mean an R-rating, while nudity, sexual situations, and certain language can, each on their own, almost always ensure an R-rating. Granted, we are a nation founded by Puritans, so it should come as no surprise. Still, I think if anything should guarantee an R-rating, it’s violence. And in this case, The Expendables is rated-R, so we’re all good as far as I’m concerned. Game on.)

The Expendables opened at #1 last weekend, proving that mindless, violent action is still as American as apple pie.

Killing’s as Easy as Breathing

I want to see The Expendables, but not for the reasons you think.

The upcoming testosterone-on-steroids action flick from the mind of Sylvester Stallone is being heralded as a throwback to the bygone days of the 1980′s, a time when heroes had more muscle than brains, more guns than laptops, and more stunts than…well there was no CGI. To achieve his goal of resuscitating the clichés of my youth, Sly assembled every macho man he could find (except of course Macho Man Randy Savage). You might have seen the posters or the trailers in which the marketers have decided require no plot detail whatsoever but merely a long recitation of the beefy cast. There’s Stallone, Statham, Li, Couture, Lundgren, Crews, Austin, Willis, and taking a break from whatever he does in Sacramento, Schwarzenegger. Are you ready for some ass-kicking indeed.