“Rambo: Last Blood” (2019)
By this point in the increasingly indefensible gorefest known as the Rambo franchise, having abandoned the original novel and film’s conception of a man irretrievably changed and haunted by Vietnam (the War, not the tourist trap), “Rambo: Last Blood”, the latest excuse for an emergency manufacturing of body bags, is bereft of even the slightest hint of social commentary and aims strictly down the path of the revenge spree in the Jason Voorhees tradition. The film wastes no time showing it intends to match its testosterone fueled hero grunt for grunt by blasting Brian Tyler’s clamorous score over the most innocuous of incidents. Thus an undramatic scene of driving down a rural highway takes on unwarranted portents of imminent violence simply as an aural gut punch designed to work the audience over and exhaust visceral resistance.
The film operates on the Let’s Do the Stupidest Thing Possible to Put Ourselves in Danger Principle, so when Rambo’s strenuously advises Gabrielle, a friend’s granddaughter whom he has adopted as his own, to resist crossing into Mexico to seek out the no-account scoundrel of a father who abandoned her, she…
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