The original Rambo trilogy has, like a very fine wine, aged with grace while retaining a mammoth’s powerful gait. I know this for a fact because I just marathoned all three. Like any good film series, each subsequent chapter ramps up the blood, explosions, and amount of helicopters; they don’t make ’em like this anymore.
Or do they?
That’s exactly what I’ll find out in a hair under three hours, my friends (according to my handy Rambo countdown clock. I hope you have found it useful). I have a feeling that they do, indeed, still make them like they used to. At least Stallone might. I plan to bring along a comrade, but should that fail, I won’t hesitate to roll into the midnight showing symbolically alone.