There I was, just in for a view of gratuitous violence. I admit it. I was in the mood for some serious blood-and-guts. Based on a friend’s recommendation, having read about the body counts in this flick, and completeness (I confess to having seen the previous ones in the series too), I went to see Rambo.
I was not disappointed in my lust for gore. But I got a lot more. I was actually moved to a few tears by the scene where villagers were killed off. All I could think was, “How similar this scene must be to our plight a century ago. What a good presentation of genocide at the micro level.” So the stage was set, my mind was in “Genocide” mode.
Early in the film there’s a discussion between Rambo, who’s catching snakes and fish for a living, and his obvious love-interest (though this is never clearly requited), who’s there to do missionary work. She asks why he’s not back in the states and if he has family there. The response is, “A father I suppose.” This set the stage for the end of the movie.
After all the bloodletting is done. After Sylvester Stallone’s somewhat right wing and/or cynical, yet with a ring of truth, views are manifested: you can’t change anything despite good intentions; you’ve gotta kill; better to die for something than live for nothing. After the heroine and a few others are rescued and the evildoers killed off, the movie ends with Rambo arriving on foot at what is evidently his father’s ranch. Three-and-a-half decades after the Vietnam that created a killing machine with a profound sense of loyalty and justice/vengeance that renders Rambo something of a sociopath, he goes home.
So, when, I keep wondering, is it our time? When do Armenia’s get to go home? When will justice be served in the Armenian highlands of planet Earth? When do we return to Giligia, Gareen, Gars, Moosh, Sepasdia, Van;