for some reason, i'm still mulling it over in my head, i signed up for the screening of the 80s action-hero testosterone festival of lights that is sylvester stallone's the expendables. i don't know if you've been outside of your home or flipped on a boob-tube in the last three months, but if so you've certainly seen the line of formerly famous stars that make up the poster for this blood-n-guts shoot-out.
honestly, i think, especially if stallone continues his unlikely streak of enjoyable action flicks, this could be a fun movie. it could exploit the star powers that these washed-up duds once emitted and could abort the idea of a logical story in favor of explosions and bloodshed and be so ridiculously dumb that it, on some basic level, works. or, and i worry deeply this might be the case, it could try to take itself too seriously or too farcically and just be an absolute bit of trash. the kind of low-rent action thriller i used to stay up past my bedtime just so i could watch the sex scenes through the grainy static of my downstairs television.
why am i going though? i don't know, some sort of distant nostalgic thread connected to my love of bruce willis and the actioneers of my past perhaps. or maybe just the need to dive back in to the theatrical film experience after three weeks of literature and road-trip.
i have no clue. this could be ugly.
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criterion counsel: sigh, don't even know where i put that film ...
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