Rambo

CELLULOID GOLD

Oh. Snap. We open on a jungle, somewhere in Action-Movie Asia. A synthesizer hums. A cannon fires, and we’re in a village where Action-Movie Asians are screaming and dying. But then we see those big, stubby fingers, fondling a tiny crucifix. And then come words that every voiceover-man would kill to say: “He is a legend of war. A soldier without a country. You know his name. And you know...” Pause. “...what he’s capable of.”

So, it turns out that Rambo, like Rocky, ain’t dead yet. He’s living somewhere humid and foreign, and some well-meaning white folks want him to take them into Burma (unintentionally topical, no?) for humanitarian work. I guess things go awry, because pretty soon, we’ve got Sly narrating his own voiceover while huge, “2 Fast 2 Furious”-style drum machines pump us up. Dancing. Killing. Knifing. Explosions. Cobras. Running. Crescendos. Finally, Rambo’s talking to himself: “Live for nothing, or die for something.” He fires an arrow that somehow blows a building up. “Your call.”

Who the hell needs this movie? Probably no one. But who needs this trailer? America.

Cloverfield

CELLULOID GOLD

This is what a trailer should be, hands down. We’re talking goosebumps like nothing else. First, we just get text about “sightings” that were “retrieved” from an area “formerly known as Central Park.” The rest of it is just a bunch of shaky, disjointed clips from digital, hand-held cameras. At the very beginning, they seem to be from some hipster douchebag’s birthday party, but pretty quickly, some serious stuff goes down. And I mean that literally—about 20 seconds into the trailer, something explodes across town, and the decapitated head of the Statue of Liberty rolls down the street.

It becomes sort of clear that this is some kind of monster movie, but hot damn, they tease us like teasing is going out of style. We don’t even get hints or silhouettes of the thing causing all the carnage. It’s just handheld shots from people who are as confused as we are, but in significantly more danger than we are. “Whatever it is, it’s winning,” a soldier barks out. Well, whatever it is, it’s giving me a fear-boner. Which is a good thing.

National Treasure:

Book Of Secrets

TRAILER TRASH

Even though “National Treasure: Book of Secrets” sounds like the latest piece of flag-waving propaganda for the “Proud to be an American” crowd, the film actually has a lot to teach us about other cultures—if the trailer is any indication. It begins in Britain, where, it seems, everything is different. For example, eye contact has different connotations. Here, it’s something to strive for in interviews and avoid on the subway; there, it means you’ve stolen some treasure. Witness two secret agent types stake out a palace gate as Nicholas Cage and his family emerge with a piece of wood. Cage makes eye contact with the agents. They make eye contact with him. And the chase is on. That’s where we discover that people in England mostly drive backwards, another interesting cultural difference. But by far the best moment of international insight that “National Treasure” offers comes as the Cage crew rush to their car. “I’ll drive”, his companion shouts, then jumps in the left side of the car and makes driving motions only to realize there’s no steering wheel there. “We’re in England,” Cage offers helpfully. So we are.