Today, as I sit down to watch Sylvester Stallone’s The Expendables, I am at a crossroads. See, as you know, I consider myself to be a feminist (in terms of the definition: “I don’t think women are inferior to men and I don’t think they should be treated that way”). But I also have a deep, deep affection for stupid action movies and their heroes. I admire the films of Jet Li. I thoroughly enjoyed the latest Rambo. If I weren’t a delicate, chaste lady who’s never even heard of a “touch hutch,” Jason Statham would be in my touch hutch. My point is, I am about to watch a movie that features nearly every major action hero of the last twenty to thirty years, a movie that has no chance whatsoever of passing the Bechdel Test, and I am probably going to enjoy it quite a bit.
The movie starts pretty fast — there are some dudes being held captive by some other dudes on a boat, and then another group of dudes — our HERO DUDES, let’s be clear, appear to try and save the hostages. Dolph Lungren (this movie’s cast really is unbelievable) ignores Sly’s “don’t shoot people to death” warning and basically machine-guns off the main hostage-taker’s torso; more shooting ensues! Oh boy do duders die, Frank. In heat vision and everything!
But then the hostage scenario comes to a stand-off that includes Stallone and Statham (guys I really do love Statham please don’t judge me harshly) negotiating over which guys they each get to kill. Don’t worry — all the bad guys get killed. Except one, who Dolph wants to hang as a warning to “pirates,” but Jet Li says “nope” with his feet and fists! Read the rest of this entry