Corpus Christi Caller Times Caller.com - Nobody does bad movies better?

Marketplace \| Services \| Contact Us \| Community \| Arts & Entertainment \| Local Guides

Brooks Peterson

Brooks Peterson's column is published Mondays. Brooks also sits on the Caller-Times editorial board and can be contacted at petersonb@caller.com

Monday, August 2, 1999

Nobody does bad movies better?

Corpus Christi Online

   I think most of you will agree with me that movie-mad America has gone just about as far as it can possibly go with this Kevin Bacon six-degrees-of-separation thing.
   Now it's time to take on the really big issues. Such as? OK, how about this: What is Sylvester Stallone's absolute worst movie ever?
   Now, granted, this is a fmiliar issue: Stallone's inventory of awful flicks has become something of a national treasure. It has even been lampooned on "Saturday Night Live" - although, as you would expect from SNL in its present sadly reduced state, it was but a mediocre hatchet job, unworthy of its target.
   Now, before you Sly fans begin marching on the building, let me to interject a disclaimer. First, I'm not saying your idol is all that bad an actor: There are far, far worse specimens on the Hollywood scene. (Pauly Shore, anyone? Bobcat Goldthwaite? Adam [bleah] Sandler?)
   Nor am I denying there have been a few good Stallone flicks: The original "Rocky," of course, is and almost certainly will remain his best effort. This Cinderella-in-Sweatsox wades knee-deep in schmaltz, yet in its innocence and intensity it just reaches out and grabs ya. Yo, Adrian!
   "First Blood," in which the Rambo character debuts, also packs something of a wallop. Even the deafeningly panned "Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot" has its moments, though most of them were supplied by Estelle Getty. Some see the recently released "Cop Land," a Serious Gritty Cop Drama, as a respectable effort by Stallone to go legit.
   But aside from these and a few other honorable exceptions, the Stallone opus is genuinely stunning in its awfulness.
   How about "Judge Dredd," the futuristic clinker that has Sly zooming around a megalopolis dispensing instant justice and blowing up lotsa stuff - including credibility. Or "Tango and Cash," a cop buddy flick in which he and Kurt Russell waste lotsa bad guys and engaged in zippy repartee? ("Why is my gun smaller?'' Russell asks? "Genetics," is the Sly reply. I laughed. I cried. I demanded my money back.)
   There's "Rhinestone," with Dolly Parton: It's "My Fair Lady" with Sly as Liza Doolittle." "Over the Top" . . . "F.I.S.T." . . . "Paradise Alley" . . .
   But set all those aside: I have your winner: For distinguished achievement in shredding credibility, for delivering a knockout punch to the willing suspension of disbelief, I give you . . . "Cobra."
   Here we have Sly as one Cobretti (hence "Cobra" - get it?), a tough, laconic cop who heads the "Zombie Squad," which takes on all the sickos, wackos and slimeballs in the metropolis.
   Adding poignancy to the scenario is the fact that Cobra has risen to this eminence despite being afflicted with a serious disability: For reasons unknown, he has a matchstick permanently lodged between his teeth. In confrontations with slimy miscreants, not to mention his superior, the matchstick never budges. One is left to wonder how he flosses, but that's a whole new line of conjecture.
   Before you can say Raging Implausibility, we have him and the inevitable sidekick, Reni Santoni, wagiing all-out war against a gang of motorcycle psychos who have apparently imbibed heady draughts of Nietzsche along with their lager: Seeing themselves as the advance guard of a New Order, they sow terror as they slice and dice their way through the city.
   Surprise: It turns out a Major Babe (Brigitte Nielsen) has witnessed one of these murders, and, boy, does she need police protection. So what do the cops do? They send Sly, Brigitte, Reni and a female cop on the road. Shrewd move
   Now, if you don't want me to spoil the movie for by revealing the end, you may want to stop reading here. Clear?
   Inevitably, it turns out the female officer is thick as thieves with the biker psychos. She tips them off to the play, and the upshot is about 20,000 crazed cultists storming the seedy motel where Sly et al have sought shelter for the night. (And where Sly and Brigitte have gotten, uh, well acquainted.)
   What ensues is a middle-sized war, with the vassals of the New Order storming the Bide-A-Wee from every point of the compass. You find yourself wondering: Doesn't anybody in this little hamlet have access to a phone?
   Sly, who has wisely brought enough firepower to outfit an armored division, which brings us to the like, totally awesome finale, which takes place in something that looks like a foundry in the middle of an orchard. Figure that out. The head psycho spouts a lot of Ubermensch jargon at Sly, who finally registers his displeasure by slamming said psycho onto a big ol' iron hook that's heading straight to a furnace.
   Rubbish? Perhaps - but in fairness I have to confess that there was one deeply affecting scene in the movie that nearly moved me to tears: the moment when Sly wrecks his chopped, lowered '50 Mercury coupe. Now that's gut-wrenching drama.
   At movie's end, Sly slugs his superior, then motors off with Brigitte on a confiscated chopper. Why no happy ending for the Merc, Sly? Inquiring minds want to know.
   (Peterson can be reached by phone at 886-3772, or by e-mail at petersonb@caller.com)




Brooks Peterson

| Talk about this column | Other Columns | Home |

[an error occurred while processing this directive]