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Den of Geek sums it up well:

There are some guns, too, some fire, some more guns, a few baseball hats, and a bit of sweat too. The only scene we get is Bruce Willis being all sinister with Sylvester Stallone, but it’ll do for now.

More here.

That’s pretty impressive for a non-sequel, non-franchise action film, especially one with the added weight of being R-rated. You’ll never catch me trying to publicly predict the how and why of the box office, but a look at “Salt” and “Eat Pray Love” did bring to mind certain elements of “The Expendables” that helped me to respect it as something more than just a thick-necked gun and run (not that that’s a bad thing) and maybe help somewhat to explain its unexpected shelf-life.

There’s a lot to like about Angelina Jolie’s PG-13 “Salt,” and even though the Oscar-winner looks a little frail to be dispatching nameless henchmen, there’s no doubt she’s one of the few movie stars, male or female, still able to artistically and commercially carry a picture all on her own. Better yet, after a ten-year absence from the action genre, director Philip Noyce returns in fine form with his old-school skill of putting together the kind of exciting action sequences that made Harrison Ford’s two Jack Ryan pictures so memorable. In this awful era of The Paul Greengrass, what a treat it is to comprehend what’s happening during a car chase, what a rarity to enjoy gunfights structured in a way that allow you to understand the geography of who’s killing whom.

Well-paced, with an excellent supporting performance from Liev Schreiber (who, if Hollywood had a lick of sense, would be cast as the next Jack Ryan), and even patriotic in spots, “Salt” delivers a fine old time at the movies. But it does feel like a relic, like something you watched on HBO a zillion times during the summer of ’83. That’s not necessarily a negative. But it does take something away from what could’ve felt like a more vital, urgent and relevant story.

We currently live in a world packed with very real dangers courtesy of Islamic terrorism, North Korea, Iran and Marxists who with the help of Oliver Stone are sowing seeds of anti-Americanism South of the Border. And still, though set in the present, “Salt” chooses Russians for its villains. Stranger still, they aren’t even present-day Russians but rather Soviet-era villains who want the current Russian president assassinated because of a lingering, two decade-old grudge regarding détente and the loss of the Cold War.

As a film fan willing to suspend as much disbelief as humanly possible, choosing Soviet-era Communists is a bridge too far. The decision to avoid portraying America’s smorgasbord of real antagonists as the film’s fictional ones is such a self-conscious choice that it hangs over the entire movie, especially after a brief opening sequence set in a North Korean prison that ends up feeling like an anachronism. This creative decision probably has something to do with race. After all, Soviets still piqued over glasnost perfectly fit the mold of Hollywood’s favorite villains: old white guys.

Ironically, we’ve had all kinds of Hollywood films involving our present-day enemies but a majority of them portray us as the enemy. And while Jolie’s character is driven by vengeance and not selflessness, by the need to clear her name and not duty to country, it is nice to see “Salt” portray America as being on the side of good. But when will Hollywood portray us as the good guys against our very real enemies?

On this front, “The Expendables” resonates – at least more than most action films these days.  While the oppressive government Stallone’s group of mercenaries sets out to overthrow might be set in a fictional country, it is still a recognizable and relevant one. Set in South America, you’re at least allowed to enjoy the vicarious thrill of seeing a Hugo Chavez/Fidel Castro stand-in — an anti-American despot, get what he has coming in a righteous and selfless fight to free the people he enslaves.

For all the grief Stallone’s receiving in reviews – even positive ones – that use words like “mindless” and “throwback,” give the man credit for at least seeing the world as it exists today.

Still, I do recommend “Salt” and even look forward to the promised sequel. Under penalty of a “Thirtysomething” marathon, however, I couldn’t say the same about “Eat Pray Love.”

Sitting through the latest from Oscar-winner Julia Roberts is like listening to a three year-old screech Me! Me! Me! for 133 minutes. The movie’s ridiculous theme — as spoken by one of those tired Hollywood tropes:  a “simple” European man who interjects GREAT WISDOM after overhearing a conversation, is that Americans don’t understand pleasure.

And so our heroine sets out on a personal journey to pleasure herself. 

Based on a wildly popular novel memoir I’d never heard of, Julia Roberts plays Julia Roberts; an elite, somewhat cold but attractive career woman living the kind of life most people can only dream of. But her Liz Gilbert, a successful New York writer with a beautiful home and faithful husband (Billy Crudup) who might need a little focus but remains devoted to her, is … unhappy. Can’t have that. So before you can say “second act,” an overdose of self-involvement has driven her to divorce her broken-hearted spouse and after an affair with a younger man (James Franco) that also doesn’t fulfill her, she sets off for Italy and India and Bali where she will learn to eat and pray and love, in that order.

There are episodes of “Seinfeld” more meaningful, and what a waste of a fine actor, Richard Jenkins. Though not Jenkins’ fault, the melodramatic scene where his character confesses his back-story might take home the award for 2010’s Most Excruciatingly Obvious Plea for An Oscar. The whole movie’s an embarrassment, which is always the case when Hollywood tries to convince us that their fanatical belief in narcissism is some sort of human value.  

“The Expendables” is at least about something. As was the case with his recent Rambo reboot, Stallone plays a character emotionally withdrawn from the world inspired by a Christian woman to get over himself and to risk his own life for the sake of others – for something bigger than self.

What his team of Expendables are actually doing during that insane action extravaganza of a climax is more than just blow things up and kill people. For no personal gain, they’re risking their own lives to liberate a population of oppressed people from a ruthless, selfish thug (and the ex-CIA agent using him).

For all the chuckling going on over Stallone’s “silly” little genre picture, in-between explosions and badass tough guy talk, the director’s painting with some large and universal themes. “The Expendables” is about redemption and self-sacrifice, about that old-fashioned idea of heroism, about American men doing what American men gotta do.

And I think this renewed appreciation might mean seeing it one more time.

How far Hollywood has fallen. Today, accusations of making a patriotic film must be defended against. But there’s no political blacklisting or anything…  

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I can’t find the link and I’m already late for a screening, but earlier this week, someone at a fairly high-profile film-site claimed I had declared “The Expendables” the most patriotic film ever, or something similar to that. After reviewing the only two pieces (here and here) I’ve written since seeing Stallone’s box office hit, what I can declare is that she’s just making that up (I do remember she was a she). Nowhere did I state “The Expendables” was flag-waving or even patriotic — unless clear storytelling lines between good and evil and masculine heroes who selflessly risk their own lives are now considered, by default, elements of America jingoism. Which is kind of a terrible thing to say about the rest of the world.

Other than an American flag hanging in the Expendable hangout, Stallone’s glorious throwback to the awesome 80s is nothing more than a satisfying good guys vs. bad guys actioner with a terrific sense of humor about itself and a nice moral that Stallone himself sums up perfectly in this interview:

‘Five guys that are expendable, that really don’t fit into society — finally they’re kind of cajoled into doing something for free, which gets them they’re morality back.”

Has the Left become so deranged that the universal values of selflessness, coming to believe in something bigger than yourself, the hanging of an American flag, and not being nihilistic, now qualify as some kind of hyper-jingoism?

And remember, “jingoism” is just a word that really means “patriotism liberals find offensive” — which is just about everything. As a matter of fact, the only patriotism the Left seems at all comfortable with these days is dissent against America.

Is it November yet?

P.S. Some of you might have read my ode to the drive-in movies last week. Well, guess who’s taking his best girl to the drive-in movies tonight for a second helping of  “The Expendables?” Purely by coincidence, last week a friend of my wife’s mentioned she was going to the drive-in — which is how we found out that for all these years we’ve been living less than 10 miles from one. Yes, I’m an idiot.

It was the Reagan era, and I wanted no part of it, or it’s popular films. Looking back I realize that I was probably too hard on both the President and the genre. Most of my opposition to Reagan was his crackdown on drugs, and that probably came from his youth. In old Hollywood, it was the communists who tended to be dope fiends, so in his mind there was a correlation. (Come to think of it, most of the dope fiends in MY youth were communists as well.)

Looking back I realize that I agree with much of what Reagan stood for. His opposition to an ever growing government, matches mine; and his love for America’s promises of freedom prosperity and liberty, are things I cherish as well. Today, I can also enjoy a good action film.

I still remember going to see Rambo: First Blood Part II at a drive-in movie with a girl who was in the Army Reserve. She loved it, but all I could do was mock the picture. I didn’t understand the patriotism she felt watching the Vietnam War won by a man who went back fighting to win, without the bureaucracy holding him back.

I thought the film was quite stupid. At the time I was more of an art-film fanatic. I wanted a film that was dark and dreary and ended with questions unresolved. I really liked David Lynch. Needless to say, the date ended badly; there was no reason for me to be in a drive-in that night.

I was a post-punk. Much like my compatriots, I rebelled against everything American, without even stopping to think what it meant to be an American. As I grew older I realized that few places outside of this country gave its citizens the ability to make total asses out of themselves. I had the freedom to dress stupid, and the freedom to say stupid things onstage. I even had the freedom to watch long monotonous pictures, which someone had the freedom to make.

Now that I’m older, and a little less serious, I look back on the action films as the comic book films of their day. Sure they were silly, and you had to suspend your disbelief, but not nearly as much as you do today, when you are forced to pretend that Leonardo DiCaprio and Matt Damon are tough guys.

They were done without computer effects, million dollar car crashes, or latex costumes to give the girlish male lead a masculine physique. Back in those days, when you saw a guy jump off of a building, you knew that a real human being actually jumped off of a building. (And if the shot got messed up, he did it twice.)

Much like my comedy at the time, I didn’t realize that the sole purpose of entertainment was to be entertaining. It’s okay to suspend the rules of physics for a couple hours and imagine a world where good guys are shot at for two straight hours, only receiving a couple of glancing wounds; and bad guys all suffer painfully horrible deaths, falling in slow motion.

The new tough guys Li and Statham are in the movie along with extreme fighter Randy Couture and fake fighter Steve Austin. There are cameos by Willis and the Democrat Governor of California Schwarzenegger. All the action heroes are there…except my favorite, Chuck Norris!

My favorite Chuck Norris movie is the 1985 cop drama “Code of Silence.” “Delta Force” and “Missing in Action” have better action and more blowing up of stuff, but they lack something that “Code” had: me! I got my first chance to be in a major film when they shot “Code of Silence” in Chicago. I was cast as an extra and later got to be an uncredited cop in a scene with Mr. Norris. It was an awesome experience for a young comic. He was friendly and personable and chatted between takes with everybody.

The movie is a “Who’s Who” of Chicago actors some of whom have since hit the big time. Dennis Farina, John Mahoney, Lou Damiani and my occasional drinking buddy from back then, character actor tough guy Ron Dean. The movie also features one of the great all time movie bad guys, Henry Silva. The plot is simple, a good cop fights the Mafia, Colombian drug runners and the rest of the Chicago police force. Of course, Chuck wins. I hope that didn’t ruin the movie for anyone!

The thing I have always liked about Mr. Norris both then and now was his complete disregard for what “Hollywood” thought of his work. He wasn’t making movies for them he was making movies for me. Since he has “come out” politically I find he has the same attitude about his political detractors. 

So what’s up with that, Sly? Why no cameo for Chuck? As a right-wing nut job my first impulse is to think Chuck’s conservatism and support of Mike Huckabee in the 2008 election might have kept him off the cast list. I don’t have any evidence of that, but that never stops the Hollywood lefties from saying those kinds of things!

Carter capped off the sad decade of the 70s, where America bailed on Vietnam, a president resigned in shame and Carter let Iran fall into Islamo-Fascist hands and then failed to rescue our hostages, which Iran humiliated before the world. His economy was as terrible as this one. And the Democrats of his day echoed the same defeatist sentiments of this period, claiming people better get used to high unemployment and an moribund economy because it’s here to stay. American cities were decaying. The Big Apple was said to be rotting and it’s best days were over.

The 70’s movies, echoed the sentiments of many film makers of that era, which showed a government that was corrupt and predatory. America was seen as a hopeless, crime ridden nation where the little guy had to fight corruption at every turn. Hollywood cranked out revenge films, crime films, conspiracy films. Many of them had an unhappy ending. The few exceptions, like Star Wars were a huge hit, but they were an exception to the rule.

Things changed when Reagan was elected. Reagan brought real hope and change. A sense of optimism and a can-do attitude. He was not without his critics, and his first couple of years were spent dealing with the economy he inherited, but he turned the country around and we were off to the races.

And with Reagan came a new decade of films that reflected this attitude. The era of the macho hero: Stallone, Schwarzenegger, Willis, Gibson, Norris, Van Damme, Seagal and others; beating and blowing up villains all over the world. Fighting terrorists, communists, drug lords and other assorted riff raff. The 70s action heroes, Eastwood, Reynolds and Bronson were still around doing their part as well. But they were winding it down while the others took over their game.

The 80’s heroes took action to the next level. The over the top, explosive heavy, bullet saturated thrill ride. And in those films the individual fighting crime and corruption was celebrated. Gone was the message that America was failing. Now America was fighting back. America was strong. America wasn’t gonna take any crap. Look out, bad guys!

I’m sure many might dispute the Reagan connection, but after Carter gutted our military, Reagan built it back up. With the exception of the withdrawal from Beirut, Reagan was going around putting fear in some of our enemies. A strong leader does that. And with a strong leader comes confidence that you’re on the winning side. With a weak leader, like Carter, who went around apologizing for America and befriending dictators (sound familiar?), America was in the doldrums.

This decade is young and we’re starting it off with lots of superhero movies and fantasy films. But many of them are financed by foreign money and the message is moving away from America as a positive light. The movie villains of today aren’t terrorists and drug lords. They’re corporations and capitalists. It’s almost a comment on our society that America is somehow bad for being a success. While our economy continues to flounder in inept hands, let’s hope the culture doesn’t feed that insecurity. The movie business thought they were doomed in the 70s. Things were getting dire for them until Spielberg and Lucas came along. The 80s proved that theory wrong. The business roared back. Part of that came from a positive message in the films of that decade.

Let’s not forget that a positive attitude can accomplish wonders and negativity and despair only leads to more depression.

But no other genre of that time divided people’s loyalties as much as the decade’s testosterone-fueled action films. Bruce Willis, Arnold Schwarzenegger and Chuck Norris were three of the muscle-bound wisecrackers laying claim to the title of World’s Toughest Man. But none of those guys ever held a candle to the toughest guy of all, Sylvester Stallone.

With the Rocky franchise going full bore and Rambo first making the scene in 1982, it was a great time to be Sly. But then came the ’90s, and moviegoers were offered a menu of sensitive heroes and spectacular special effects taking the place of stars and stuntmen risking their necks onscreen. Stallone himself actually blames the ability of Michael Keaton to put on a suit full of fake muscles and become Batman as the moment that his own juiced-up muscles ceased to be important to audiences.

But if there is one thing Hollywood loves more than a mere winner it is a successful comeback. And in the past three years, Stallone’s been slowly building one, mainly through reprising roles he created and knows best, first in 2006’s “Rocky Balboa” and then “Rambo” in 2008.

Now, Stallone has single-handedly pumped new life into the sagging careers of nearly every otherwise washed-up action star of the ’80s and ’90s — among them, briefly, Governator Arnold Schwarzenegger — in the ridiculously entertaining film “The Expendables.”

Boasting a lineup of Stallone, his “Rocky IV” nemesis Dolph Lundgren, Mickey Rourke, Jason Statham, Jet Li, Terry Crews, wrestling stars Steve Austin, Randy Couture, ubiquitous ’80s villain Eric Roberts, plus Willis and Schwarzenegger in cameos, this film makes it clear from the casting that it’s not going to be vying for any Oscars. Stallone also directed the film and co-wrote it with Dave Callaham, meaning success or failure will be directly tied to Stallone’s ability to maintain his comeback and finally pull off his dual dream projects of portraying mobster John Gotti and Edgar Allen Poe (yes, Poe).

Based on this third entertaining film in a row, Sly’s succeeding. “The Expendables,” much like “The Dirty Dozen” and “The Magnificent Seven” before it, is about a bunch of tough guys on a mission. This time, a team of mercenaries is called to save a fictional South American island nation called Vilena from the ruthless American (Roberts), who’s bought his way into total control of its people.

The man who talks Stallone’s character Barney Ross into the job is a mysterious figure who goes by the name Mr. Church (Willis). However, Ross only gets the job after another tough-talking mysterious European figure (Schwarzenegger) engages him in a battle of one-liners before turning down the gig. This cleverly done five-minute scene, featuring the Holy Trinity of ’80s action superstars together onscreen for the first time, doesn’t have any action but its witty verbal sparring could be the scene that draws the most action fans into theaters.

After the team’s efforts go awry and they fly away with their mission distinctly not accomplished, Ross is morally conflicted over the fact the woman who hired them to topple Roberts and his minions chose to stay behind rather than escape certain peril. The team gets back in their private cargo plane and rides back into high-octane action that barely makes sense and requires little explanation to follow.

One thing that’s refreshing about this film is that there’s relatively little profanity for this kind of movie – almost none, in fact. And the heroes’ sense of honor and quest to defend women at all costs, including in a highly entertaining fight by Statham on behalf of an ex-girlfriend who was beaten by her new boyfriend, also lends some humanity to the proceedings.

Basically, if you love seeing stuff blow up —including bad guys — this movie is for you. “The Expendables” is by-the-book action filmmaking that still does the job with panache. Every one of its stars looks thrilled to be back on the big screen and — with lots of bangs and booms — make the most of their second chances.

1989 didn’t just mark the end of a decade. It was also the greatest movie summer of my life. There was Lethal Weapon 2, Field of Dreams, and Star Trek V. But it should be remembered that these were different times in America, the last gasp of the outdoor drive-in movie theatre, that place where films that might not have seemed so great or even good while viewed in a proper cinema, achieved their own special kind of grandeur when watched under the stars through a windshield, and heard through a steel speaker that hung on your car door window. 

So without any embarrassment I will also say that this was the summer of Lock Up, of Turner and Hooch, The Package, Casualties of War, and what might have been the greatest drive-in movie ever made. 

We would be married that September and like most couples starting out and paying for their own wedding and honeymoon, money was tight and frivolous expenditures impossible. Our entertainment would have to come cheap and in the early mornings we would walk, because walking cost nothing but also for the exercise and to enjoy that time together before real-life intruded on our new romance in the form of jobs. As we made our way around the neighborhood, the excited discussion was of the future, our future. Because there is nothing more thrilling than realizing that your whole life lies ahead of you, except in the knowing that you have found someone to share it with. 

There are no rose-colored glasses thick enough to convince me that those days were perfect. Fifty hours of my week were spent making a living as a retail bill collector, and my wife was the victim of one of those bosses who took advanced college courses in making the lives of his employees miserable. We didn’t just hate our jobs, we dreaded them, and when Father Time finally found the charity to deliver up a Friday night, we were bursting with the need to get out into it, to celebrate our two day furlough, to do anything to mark the moment as the special one it was. But we were also broke. 

The price of admission wasn’t five dollars per person, it was five dollars per carload, and that admission wasn’t for one movie, it was for two and sometimes three. We would always arrive early so there would be no competition for a parking slot that no small amount of experimenting had proven to be the very best: a spot just off center but built a little higher than the others where the front wheels sat. As hours of movie-watching passed, this small advantage proved easier on the neck. 

To avoid the cost of concessions there was the Styrofoam cooler, always packed with a beer or two for him, a wine cooler or two for her, and hot dogs wrapped in tinfoil that we would warm up between shows on the Riv’s mighty engine block.  

In the dusk, children would take advantage of the broken-down playground that sat directly in front of the giant screen, and the sounds of their pleasure would then blend with the even sweeter sounds of tires crunching gravel, car doors slamming, and far-off adult voices and laughter all set to the tinny music that played through those deceptively heavy speakers before the show began. The sounds were timeless, and if you closed your eyes and took a moment, you could transport yourself back to when your parents were young. For all the many wonders available for only five-dollars a carload just off of Highway 145, the Starlight Drive-In was also a perfectly-kept time capsule of the year of its construction. 

Before it got dark enough to justify doing so, the projectionist would always stubbornly start the first feature anyway, usually a second-run film. Still, we would all honk our horns and flash our headlights to mark the occasion. And what an occasion Hollywood delivered. 

I think of 1989 as one of the years before. Before movies were bloated, preachy and confusing. Before Mel Gibson and Danny Glover would break our hearts, James Cameron would turn on his own country and the bridge of the U.S.S. Enterprise was staffed with squatters. It was a time when the warm and wonderful John Candy still walked the earth and Rick Moranis was our favorite cool-nerd, when James Bond was politically incorrect, Stallone made action movies, and the special connection we felt with Ron Howard, Tom Hanks, Meg Ryan and Bill Murray remained as they had yet to go off in pursuit of importance. John Hughes was with us too, still a few years away from returning to his beloved Midwest and taking so much of our childhood with him.

But this was also before anyone could ever imagine anything strong enough to kill Patrick Swayze. 

There are many uniquely special movie moments in my life, but few as perfect as a summer night over two decades ago as I sat in an old car hypnotized by the sublime drive-in greatness of Road House as it badassed in exquisite B-movie glory before my eyes. It remains a memory as vivid as any and to this day whenever I hear the sound of tires cutting through gravel I’m transported back to that moment, and the transportation is so complete that I can smell her perfume, taste the cheap beer, and feel once again, if only for a moment, what it’s like to be all of twenty-three years old and living deep in the heart of a Friday night with both a weekend and the rest of a life still unspent. 

In the years that followed, as we got on with the business of living, trips to the drive-in became less and less frequent and would finally stop altogether after we moved out of state in 1993.  The following year the Starlight would close forever. 

Should I be lucky enough to become an old man and even luckier to know someone willing to feign interest in an old man’s stories, I promise to embellish just a little the very few adventures of my life and not to dwell on the sentimental. But at my next stop, that place where life is as it should be, it will forever be Friday evenings during the summer of ’89, when hot dogs taste best fresh off an engine block, Hollywood still keeps its promises, and both my wife and I and our romance are still young.

There are few greater joys than ‘80s action films.  When I was younger, my brother and I sought out the craziest ones we could find for marathon viewing.  The appeal is obvious:  these movies are pure; they don’t waste time trying to excuse their existence.  There are no hackneyed back stories that reduce the protagonists to simpering man-babies in third act monologues; there are no juvenile progressive sucker punches (usually); and, most importantly, there’s no pretension. 

You can’t tell someone who didn’t like Die Hard that they didn’t “get it” or use your love of Rowdy Herrington flicks to passive-aggressively show off to your friends.  You’re not watching these movies to groom your image or impress anyone.  All you’re doing is marveling at the most sensible use of a medium that consists of moving images:  incredible feats performed by tough, charismatic men.  You’re laughing at the goofy charm (or genuine stupidity) of whatever insane premise is holding it all together. 

As noted previously on BH, Hollywood has abandoned these fundamentals, and the result has been a decade of hum-drum, camera-shaking clunkers with no personality and virtually no special effects created for real-life cameras to capture.  That is, Hollywood has abandoned these fundamentals, with one exception:  Sylvester Stallone. 

Out of all the goofy movies my brother and I watched way back when, the Stallone ones were the best.  Cobra, Tango & Cash, Over the Top— the man had such conviction, no matter how preposterous the movie, that he could be a compelling, magnetic screen presence, yet he always carried himself with a goofy charm, often having fun at his own expense. It’s not surprising to me, then, that while the careers of several of his’80s action peers are on shaky ground, Sly is forging his own second golden age at 64 years old (he and George W. Bush share the exact same birthday—coincidence?).  After a hiatus of several years, Stallone successfully rebooted both of his signature franchises–Rocky and Rambo– and his latest offering, The Expendables, is poised to make big bucks this weekend. 

So, since Sly seems to get it—since he’s offering us the no-frills, no-CGI man’s movie that we, the moviegoing American public have been starving for—at Big Hollywood, we’re celebrating the legacy of Stallone and giving the American ‘80s action film its due in an event titled: Bring On “The Expendables!”

As our resident music critic/punching bag, let me kick things off with a bit of an aside before the actual writers with politics and media cred jump in.  How awesome is Sylvester Stallone?  Rhinestone awesome.  Apparently, Stallone turned down roles in Romancing the Stone and Beverly Hills Cop to star in a goofy, slapdash Dolly Parton film by the director of A Christmas Story.  If he’s ever done anything more ballsy than breaking with 99.99% of his peers to endorse the opponent of Barack Obama in the 2008 election, it’s this movie.  

In a gender-reversed take on My Fair Lady, he plays a fast-talking New York cabbie who has to become a country singer to help Dolly Parton win a bet that may cost her…  well, you can guess what men would make her wager.  He could have paid someone to overdub some singing for him, but he really sings those silly country songs, and he makes them work with his rough voice.  He could have played it cool, but he really goes for broke with an inspired, downright spastic comic performance.  Of course, the Hollywood snobs gave him a Razzie for it, but his performance (and revisions to the script) really turned the film into a screwball camp classic.

And that is exactly what’s great about the man.  With Sylvester Stallone, you always know he isn’t worried about what other people think—not because he thinks he’s better or knows better than them, but because he’s confident enough in his own artistry (yeah, I said it) to make movies just the way he likes them.  And, what do you know—most everybody else likes them, too.

[Author’s Note:  In case anyone who is involved at all in Mr. Stallone’s career reads this:  RAMBO vs. PREDATOR. Make it happen.]