Gaddafi’s old chemical plant: Remember that ol’ thing? Expend4bles sure does! By using those four words onscreen in its prologue, the ’80s throwback franchise gives a nod to those better times — the “glory days,” we called them — when Expend4bles didn’t exist.

Why the movie didn’t just go with The Expendables 4 is a from-the-start sign of h0w 5tup1d 1t i5. Need another? Right after the title sequence, Barney (Sylvester Stallone) visits a local strip club to retrieve his wedding ring from a two-pronged dildo behind the bar. 

I almost wish that alone were the plot, since that’s a scenario I’ve never seen, whereas assemblages of shipping containers? Been there.

But since this series loves it some shipping containers, it tasks Barney and Christmas (Jason Statham, The Beekeeper) — and any other Expendables just chillin’ at HQ — with keeping stolen nuclear detonators from falling into the hands of a shadowy terrorist. Because this madman goes by the name “Ocelot,” prepare to hear that word more than you’d find in an entire run of Zoobooks magazine.

The movie’s largest problem is how little it resembles one. As helmed by Need for Speed’s Scott Waugh, it’s way too clean, looking like a Nickelodeon kidcom at worst or a Jardiance commercial at best. Consider the following:
• Nearly every outdoors shot of our principals is green-screened, even if they’re merely standing on a front porch in the suburbs.
• All instances of blood splatter appear swiped from a decade-old video game.
• Effects sequences involving planes, trucks and anything else explodable are animated no more realistic than episodes of Hot Wheels AcceleRacers. 
• Former Transformers eye candy Megan Fox is the one effect not in need of meddling, yet someone has Clone Stamped her entire face in Photoshop to give her an eerie RealDoll look.

With three-peat Expendables like Jet Li, Terry Crews and Arnold Schwarzenegger hard-passing on a return, new recruits have been drafted apparently at random from Redbox, by Redbox. When he’s not steering a tugboat, Tony Jaa (Furious 7) impresses with his lightning-fast moves, and Levy Tran (The First Purge) makes a brief impression wielding a chain. Meanwhile, Andy Garcia (Geostorm) chews a toothpick, and 50 Cent (Den of Thieves) utters modern action cinema’s most clichéd line: “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout!”

Despite the brainpower of three screenwriters, one good scene made it through to final product: Dolph Lundgren’s sniper character can’t shoot for shit without first donning reading glasses.

I enjoyed the first film. Same goes with The Expendables 2 and 3, albeit to a lesser, messier degree, and I can’t tell you a single thing that happens in them. Expend4bles is such a huge step down in quality — not to mention literacy — that it’s too often indistinguishable from the franchise’s direct-to-video imitators. Perhaps it’s time for The Expendables to go from expandable to expunged.

Sly almost makes a wise decision to ensure if there’s a fifth chapter, it’d be without him. But you know the 33 credited producers wouldn’t allow that. —Rod Lott

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Those less familiar with the source material for David Lowery’s The Green Knight might’ve been surprised by that decidedly nonviolent fantasy flick. And you wouldn’t be alone. Maybe the role even left its lead, Dev Patel, somewhat hungry for a more straightforward revenge tale. All he would need to do is write, direct and produce it himself.

Enter Monkey Man, Patel’s directorial debut that offers a frenetic and brutal film that stabs, slices and punches past a mob of John Wick imitators. (Yes, even you, The Beekeeper.)

That’s not to say Monkey Man is devoid of meaning, either. No, it doesn’t uproot the genre in the same way as Park Chan-wook’s Oldboy or Michael Sarnoski’s Pig. It does, however, give us a thriller as drenched in Indian culture, politics and mythology as it is by blood and dismembered limbs.

Set in the fictional city of Yatana, Kid (Patel) lives in poverty. He makes a “living” donning a monkey mask and intentionally losing boxing (but also kind of pro wrestling) matches. Kid saves what little money he can with the plans of killing a twisted police chief, Rana (Sikandar Kher), and an equally corrupt religious leader, Baba (Makarand Deshpande). Years prior, Rana murdered Kid’s mother and burned down his hometown under Baba’s direction to expand the figure’s holy empire. By killing these two and every goon at their disposal, Kid seeks to tear out of the heart of Yatana’s criminal underground.

Granted, it can sometimes be difficult to discern some of Monkey Man’s basic plot detail, given its constantly moving and whiplash-inducing cinematography. The technique works exceedingly well where it matters most (e.g., fight scenes and urban B-roll), but distracts from key dialogue. Granted, Monkey Man is a film filled with necessary compromises to work around stolen camera shots and, of course, Patel’s broken hand.

These setbacks could account for much of Monkey Man’s shortcomings, and more often than not, they don’t interrupt the action at hand. What truly hurts the film are formulaic character motivations and grossly repetitive framing. (Take a shot every time the camera follows a character to the ground like an ax splitting wood and you’d black out before the film’s second act.)

Again, it’s hard to hold these issues too much against the film knowing how much of a beast it was to make. Still, one could easily wonder how much more memorable Monkey Man could be if it exercised even slightly more restraint, especially when it comes to the few dialogue-driven scenes.

Granted, most of us didn’t show up for the talking. The film thrives with its low-to-the ground, drag-out fights. A attempted assassination in a bathroom quickly followed by a confrontation with an ax-wielding brothel owner are among Monkey Man’s most riveting sequences. Similarly, the movie’s final two fight scenes offer an equally gory as it is satisfying conclusion, even though the cinematography loses a bit of its luster by that point.

Other than a notch in what we’ll hopefully cascade into a storied career for Patel, Monkey Man doesn’t pack a lot of a staying power. At the very least, however, it’s far from a boring or uninspired revenge thriller. Perhaps a sequel could suture some of the film’s more apparent gashes and give its protagonist a bit more depth. (Hopefully Patel’s hand will have fully healed by then, too.) —Daniel Bokemper

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Somewhere between The Purge and The Hunger Games stands The Culling. For decades, the annual, cereal-sponsored event allows the ruler of a totalitarian regime to round up and execute enemies on live TV. Years ago, a boy named Boy witnessed the murder of his family that way. Deaf, mute and now totally ripped, the grown-up Boy (Bill Skarsgård, Barbarian) undertakes a mission of revenge on that politician (Famke Janssen, X-Men) and her own brood.

German director and co-writer Moritz Mohr has built Boy Kills World, his debut feature, similarly to how posh parents whip up a baby by selecting preferred genes. His film is inspired by video games, dystopian sci-fi, kung-fu movies, graphic novels, splatter à la Sam Raimi (who incidentally produces) and more video games. Instead of blonde hair and blue eyes, Mohr seems to have chosen the elements calculated to get his firstborn branded with the “instant cult classic” label. The problem is, awful title notwithstanding, that winning formula can’t be brewed in a lab.

Its fight sequences run so long and are so CGI-dependent, the effect is like watching a marathon session of your roommate play an FPS. At least some of the skirmishes are scored by the propulsive party sounds of El Michels Affair, which recall The Go! Team at its jump-ropin’ peak.

Although slick in the right spots and boasting fun (in small doses) comic turns from Michelle Dockery (Non-Stop) and Sharlto Copley (Monkey Man) as members of the political dynasty, the film tries hard to please — so hard that it ultimately proves to be too much of a good thing. In fact, it’s too much of too much, right down to use of the Wilhelm scream. —Rod Lott

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Loosely based on true events, Ransomed, from director Kim Seong-hun (2016’s Tunnel), sets into motion with the abduction — and presumed death — of a South Korean diplomat by Lebanese terrorists in Beirut.

One year later, however, a telephone call of Morse code to the South Korean government suggests the diplomat is alive. Rather than risk embarrassment, Foreign Affairs officials decide to go around proper channels — like intelligence agencies — and pursue an under-the-radar rescue operation. They send the mild-mannered company man who answered that late-night call: Deputy Lee Min-jun (Ha Jung-woo of Park Chan-wook’s The Handmaiden). 

With a cash ransom of $2.5 million on his person, Min-jun lands in Beirut and gains an partner in slick-talking cabbie Pan-su (Ju Ji-hoon, The Spy Gone North). Pan-su’s an unwitting partner at first, forced into the situation by mere accident.

So begins the formula of every American buddy action-comedy of the 1980s and ’90s, only Ransomed often diverts from that well-laid path. Seong-hun offers no quips, no catchphrases, no “I’m too old for this shit”-type of shenanigans. As “wacky” as the poster sells the film, the film is not interested in being, say, Rush Hour 4.

This makes sense. Although compelling for the screen, the real-ilfe story of Do Chae Sung was too dire and dangerous to play for laughs. Seong-hun respects that while also administering the proper dosage of adrenaline to give the action sequences the punch to which modern audiences are accustomed.

Ransomed isn’t perfect, but Jung-woo and Ji-hoon — individually and in their interplay — often make you believe otherwise, except in an Act 2 lag. Knowledge of Eastern world politics may help you better understand the the plot nuances, but in terms of pure entertainment, the film transcends all barriers. —Rod Lott

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Between moonlighting as a smuggler, hitman, mercenary, peasant turned warrior and Megalodon-killing marine biologist, any of the machismo-brimmed hats Jason Statham has worn shouldn’t surprise us. In Suicide Squad director David Ayer’s The Beekeeper, however, he dawns a mask. (At least for the first six minutes.) Regardless, the film’s initial impression as a Great Value John Wick doesn’t work against it, instead amplifying its gun-toting buzz.

The film follows Adam Clay (Statham), a physically imposing beekeeper who rents a shed from his elderly neighbor, Eloise (Phylicia Rashad, Creed). One night, a phishing scam — secretly run by Derek Danforth (Josh Hutcherson, Five Nights at Freddy’s), the god of insufferable tech bros — drains Eloise’s savings and a community trust account, spurring her to suicide.

Clay discovers her body right before Verona Parker (Emmy Raver-Lampman, Netflix’s The Umbrella Academy), an FBI agent and Eloise’s daughter. After tense introductions, Clay contacts “the Beekeepers,” a secret organization he retired from that specializes in keeping the peace with a lot of guns. Clay obtains an address for an assuming office in Massachusetts, and the body count starts rising.

As you could imagine, not a lot happens under The Beekeeper’s hood — and that’s the beauty of it. Beyond the recurring use of the phrase “protect the hive” and the increasingly concerned looks of Jeremy Irons (Justice League), what a Beekeeper actually does is never explained. Though arguably oversimplified, the lack of a monolithic organization like the Continental, Kingsman or Expendables keeps the action’s focus exactly where it needs to be: on Statham.

Unfortunately, effectively dumbing down the secret society angle also means The Beekeeper noticeably lacks substance when its lead wanders off-screen. Most of the banter between Parker and her partner falls flat, as if their wit is the only thing preventing the movie from diving headfirst into a vat of ridiculous honey. The action’s set pieces emerge through an equally uninspired formula:

1. Clay kills the bad guy(s).
2. Bigger bad guy(s) called in to retaliate.
3. Clay kills them, too.
4. Repeat approximately five times.

That being said, how we get to the shootouts and explosions isn’t nearly as important as how they’re orchestrated. Fortunately, The Beekeeper finds Statham in peak, stoic form. Even if the violence lacks any permanence, it’s still a joy to see Clay outmaneuver a minigun or take out a team of commandos with some ratchet straps and an elevator.

The Beekeeper doesn’t offer much more than B-roll for an inevitable Statham documentary, but it doesn’t really need anything more than that. It’s not like The Transporter or Crank franchises offer substantially different experiences, yet they still persist as (vaguely) quintessential 2000s action flicks. Between this and The Meg, we could be closing in on the twilight of Statham’s generously prolific career. Check The Beekeeper out, and don’t stop bee-lieving in its star. —Daniel Bokemper

Get it at Amazon.