First Dud

Alternate Title to this post: First Blood...Pressure

I have to call him Sylvester, because he is not being sly. This is a blatant grasp at reclaiming the name that Planet Hollywood tried to destroy. Unlike Rocky Balboa which holds a woman's attention and makes a grown man cry, this movie looks like a nonsensical re-hashing of an exhausted idea. And he's way too eager to please. "I heard you like Cheetos, so I bought some. Remember how we met at the game and both ordered a Coke? There's Coke over there on the table. Know this song? I thought you might. Kelly told me you're into Mos Def..." You're trying too hard, movie moguls.

What’s the deal with the mouth-breathing? The forcably curled lips. We get it, you’re Stallone. He’s doing a better impression of himself than the Brisk tea commercial.


And he turns 77 in this movie, which explains the coverage of a t-shirt. But yet, it doesn't explain the lack of a cardigan. And long hair? How many 77 year olds do you know with long, jet-black hair? (Cher doesn't count--she's 80) GROW OLD for the love of biscuits. If you've got a full head of hair then bless you, but now consult Richard Gere. Even Charles Gibson knows to leave the glasses on the end of his nose.

"This year…John Rambo faces his worst enemy…arthritis."

I guess there is no good way to age. Oh, I know one: off-camera. I would never call my grandma tacky, but if Audrey Hepburn wore polyester frocks, she would NOT be allowed to dance in the GAP ads.

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