The trailer for The Expendables fills me with the same giddy expectation that teased my inner ’80s action hero a few years back. I’m thinking specifically of the silly thrill that permeated my art house veneer when the Rambo reboot reared its mulletesque head – meaning I’ll relish the film best as a 3-minute short and never take the time to watch it in its entirety.
A few unsolicited observations:
Stallone’s kryptonite, the “hot missionary in trouble” storyline.
I never noticed how much Statham’s baldness is actually born out of necessity.
The inclusion of Jet Li, a silly ploy designed to eliminate all hackneyed quips about Stallone’s monosyllabic delivery. This will fail, especially in lieu of Stallone’s insistence on penning a scene built around him and Schwarzenegger talking.
As typical in Hollywood, the only no-name featured is the black dude. Someone should shitkick the marketeer who didn’t think the text “and the guy who played President Camacho” wouldn’t have lassoed a key demographic.
Way too little Lundgren.
Your inner arthouse nerd only wishes you had the skills of a Stallone in movie production or acting. As shitty as his movies are, he somehow still gets them financed, produced, boxed and distributed. The clock must be ticking on your career since Sly himself was only 30 years old when Rocky came out. What have you done that I would watch? Perhaps, you should put together a documentary on how you tucked your tail between your legs and moved out to the suburbs and commute on the train into the city and how it agonizes you and post it on Youtube, THAT I’ll watch. I like a dark comedy.
Glory be! How I’ve missed thee – although that close encounter at the Hawkeye Country Tavern had me shaken, yet firm in my resolve.
This obviously isn’t the Statham vehicle I was hoping for.