Why, Sly? Just why?

The Expendables 3 (M)
Starring: Every action hero over 60, and one that isn’t
SLY, Sly, Sly.
We had so many good years together.
Like that time in Rambo II when you were hidden in the mud wall behind the Russian Spetsnaz guy in the jungle, and your eyes blinked open and then you stabbed him to death with your elephant knife. That was awesome.
Or that time in First Blood when you destroyed that Podunk little town with that blazing M-60 machine-gun, and killed that fat sheriff. Good times.
And then, Sly, you went and did this.
In its third instalment – “written” by you, apparently – the Expendables franchise has sadly run completely out of steam.
You’ve served up the usual crew of action stars and big set-pieces, but there’s no magic, no spark.
It’s like watching Collingwood play football. You can tell what’s going on, but there’s no passion about it whatsoever.
The risible plot has a new team of baby Expendables who predictably get captured and need the help of the old school Expendables to save ’em.
That’s it.
Kudos to Mel Gibson who, as the bad guy in chief, steals the show, channelling Matthew Newton from the Underbelly of darkness.
Harrison Ford phones it in. It’s a short call.
And the rest? Jason Statham leads the way, at a sprightly 46. Where is the next generation of real action heroes… not mythical caped crusaders.
It’s not me, Sly, it’s you. You’re 68, for God’s sake. 68!
But I’ll always remember that scene in Rambo II when you hovered that attack helicopter in the middle of the jungle camp, and rotated slowly through 360 degrees of cold, cold death.
We were great together, once.
– Jason Beck