It’s the flick from which THREE gubernatorial candidates emerged. Two successful: Arnold Schwarzenegger in the service of the people of California and Jesse Ventura in Minnesota. Then there’s Sonny Landham. He served alright. Thirty-one months in the big house before an appeals court finally saw things his way. Afterward he tried suing the feds to no avail. Then he up and turned Baptist (Welcome aboard, Sonny!) before making an unsuccessful run for Kentucky’s highest office. Guess two out of three ain’t bad! Only in America could a seven-time Mr. Olympia, a professional rassler and a ’70s porn stallion rise to become motion picture AND political phenoms. So, dear CineSchlockers, keep that in mind as you’re rewatching this interstellar commando classic for the bazillionth time, and that lump within your chest just MIGHT swell from a perverse sense of patriotism.
Ah-nold leads a six-man ARMY deep into guerrilla infested jungles on a mercy mission only to discover the folks they’re meant to rescue have been strung from the treetops like skinned rabbits. Carl Weathers‘ CIA tagalong finds the macabre scene so grody and infuriating that he’s certain it MUST BE the work of heathen pinkos, so he and Arnie’s merry mercenaries hoof it over to convert the nearest rebel encampment into a great big smoldering hole in the ground. Of course, WE know them commies, nasty as they were, didn’t fillet those folks. It was El Diablo Cazabor de Hombres — or amongst gringos — THE DEMON WHO MAKES TROPHIES OF MAN!!! That’s right, not long after that rebel roast, the movie gets REAL good when the biggest badass of the bunch (Jesse "I AIN’T GOT TIME TO BLEED!" Ventura) gets his MTV T-shirt redecorated with his own rib cage via an eight-foot Rastafarian space alien’s plasma cannon. Then we’re talking cat-and-mouse, hunters-become-the-hunted, full-blooded-indian-tracker-going-ape-poopie time until The Governator rightly reckons: "If it bleeds, we can kill it!" Thankfully, for cinema’s sake, that ain’t so easy.
Not to give too much away, but in the sequel, another "ugly motherf@#%er!" goes on homo-sapien safari in gang-ravaged Los Angeles. Personally, the second installment edges slightly ahead of the original due to increased face time for ol’ snaggle puss. Blasphemy, indeed! Yet the flick’s STILL responsible for, with a single frame, touching off the Alien vs. Predator video game and comic brouhaha soon to spill into multiplexes. Gig ’em good, fellas!
Notables: No breasts (Not counting Arnold’s pecks). 58 corpses. Spontaneous amputation. Ol’ prepare-for-battle montage. Multiple firesuit stunts. Arm rassling. Chaw spitting. Bitch slapping. Extraterrestrial taxidermy. Unfortunate vaginal humor. Multiple explosions (including one mini-nuke). Involuntary free falls. Point-blank execution.
Quotables: Mr. Ventura delicately suggests chewing tobacco enhances male mojo: "Bunch of slack-jawed f@#%&*s around here! This stuff will make you a g@%damn sexual Tyrannosaurus just like me!" Chief Rainbows and Sunshine knows the score: "There’s something out there waiting for us — and it ain’t no man. We’re ALL gonna die!"