Waxworks wallop

Like an assemblage of celeb Illuminati, more than a dozen aging action heroes, UFC victors, professional wrestlers and NFL retirees have gathered under the Italian Stallion's wavering banner in an effort to people one ambitious action epic to rule them all.

While The Expendables doesn't quite rule, it certainly does entertain. Sylvester Stallone - who produced, directed and co-wrote the film - has coaxed an astonishing number of fading stars from the twilight of semi-retirement (or, in at least one notable instance, gubernatorial splendor). The result is a strange, campy and winsome throwback to the days of big-budget bloody, action extravaganzas headlined by absurd, hypermasculine supermen.

The cast list reads like a who's who of late 20th-century Hollywood: Lundgren, Rourke, Roberts, Stallone, Schwarzenegger, Willis, et al. This last thespianic triumvirate gathers at one point for a brief cameo appearance in what unfolds as a surprisingly anticlimactic moment in an otherwise exhilarating film. When Schwarzenegger saunters into the frame across from the grizzled, synthetically enhanced Stallone and the weirdly polished Willis, the inescapable observation is just how withered the former Mr. Universe appears by comparison and how goofy the posturing of cinematic tough guys can become.

The premise, such as it is, involves a loose confederation of mercenaries who are nearing the end of their respective careers as soldiers of fortune, licking their wounds and keeping a wary eye out for signs of psychological fatigue in their compatriots. What begins as just another job for Stallone's Barney Ross and Jason Statham's upstaging turn as Lee Christmas soon transforms into an irresistible challenge for Ross. The cynical knight errant becomes infatuated with a would-be female resistance fighter (Gisele Itié as Sandra) and soon resolves to put his life on the line in her defense. After slaughtering dozens of soldiers on a small South American island and narrowly escaping with their lives, Ross and Christmas (as he is affectionately addressed) return in force to overthrow the corrupt elite and rescue the token damsel in distress.

Oddballs like "Stone Cold" Steve Austin and Dolph Lundgren (whose last appearance in a major motion picture was 1995's Johnny Mnemonic) serve up evidence of the kinetic appeal that originally propelled their careers. While filming one fight sequence, Austin took things to the next level by breaking Stallone's neck, harkening back to the shooting of Rocky IV, during which Lundgren put Stallone in the emergency room with an uppercut to the chest.

The body count in The Expendables rivals any installment of Rambo, and the fetishization of violence and gore reaches a fever pitch by the finale. Such excess is oddly satisfying under the circumstances, however. Like the PG-13 rating applied to Live Free or Die Hard, a dialing-back of the gratuitousness would smack of a certain kind of cinematic sacrilege. One can take such films or leave them (I, for one, am typically inclined to the latter), but one oughtn't attempt to dilute them, as the result is merely boring.

Amid the legendary cast, Statham runs off with the final parting salvo of testosterone-fueled wit, turning the throwing of a knife into the figurative passing of the torch from one generation of meatheads to the next. Rumors of a franchise threaten to undermine the swan song element in The Expendables, and the prospect of the aging actors reprising their roles as blasts from the past is more embarrassing than encouraging. Whether the performances on hand or the remaining talents of the actors would suffice to cement them as stars were it not for their impressive résumés seems unlikely (with the exception of Rourke, who has never been better). But they are icons nevertheless, and provided they don't overplay their collective hand, it is good fun to see them at work.

James Walling can be reached at
jwalling@praguepost.com