George Cosmatos, the director of the dim-witted RAMBO: FIRST BLOOD PART 2, directs this schizophrenic exercise in style with some aplomb.
The title sequence is simply stunning. DOP Ric Waite's images exist in some sort of surreal world that the film can't possibly contextualize. At magic hour, a bad guy on a motorcycle is intercut with ludicrous but gorgeous images of other bad guys (in suits, no less) ritualistically banging axe handles together in some underground warehouse in Los Angeles in time with a dark, brooding synth score
The sequence that follows, a madman's bullet-ridden assault on a supermarket, is again stunningly shot and staged and a triumph of style over anything you want to name.
Once these bravura sequences have passed, mediocrity and Hollywood Plotting 101 cuts in and we're pulled back into a dull reality.
But don't fret. Sit tight for long enough and you get an enthusiastically staged car chase with ducks, machine guns, classic cars bursting from buildings, a Santa who comes close to being roadkill and badly uttered Stallone lines.
Fast forward then to the film's climactic shootout on motorcycles and you're left with an action film that spends forty minutes doing everything right.
Stallone emotes with cruise control and his wife-at-the-time Brigitte Nielson just wears the clothes and moves from first position to second.
The title sequence is simply stunning. DOP Ric Waite's images exist in some sort of surreal world that the film can't possibly contextualize. At magic hour, a bad guy on a motorcycle is intercut with ludicrous but gorgeous images of other bad guys (in suits, no less) ritualistically banging axe handles together in some underground warehouse in Los Angeles in time with a dark, brooding synth score
The sequence that follows, a madman's bullet-ridden assault on a supermarket, is again stunningly shot and staged and a triumph of style over anything you want to name.
Once these bravura sequences have passed, mediocrity and Hollywood Plotting 101 cuts in and we're pulled back into a dull reality.
But don't fret. Sit tight for long enough and you get an enthusiastically staged car chase with ducks, machine guns, classic cars bursting from buildings, a Santa who comes close to being roadkill and badly uttered Stallone lines.
Fast forward then to the film's climactic shootout on motorcycles and you're left with an action film that spends forty minutes doing everything right.
Stallone emotes with cruise control and his wife-at-the-time Brigitte Nielson just wears the clothes and moves from first position to second.