Expend4bles: Return Of The Pension Fund Masquerading As An Action Franchise

BEFORE I begin, as a Bollywood enthusiast, it is my solemn duty to reveal that China Gate (1998) is the OG Expendables. I said what I said. Now that I’ve gotten this piece of unnecessary trivia off my tired chest, let’s get to Expend4bles — or Expend0bles, or Expenda8les or Expendables 4 — or whatever they call this pension fund parading as an action franchise. The makers have thought for years that they’ve pulled a fast one over the audience with the meta title: “Your criticism is pointless if we already call ourselves the expendables, right?” Well, I have news for director Scott Waugh, who is incidentally also responsible for the other worst film of this year (Hidden Strike). Expend4bles (God, that’s annoying to type) is so bad that Sylvester Stallone retires from it.

Expend4bles is so bad that it unfolds like a copy of the other, other worst film of the year, Meg 2 — where a Jason Statham character again saves his hapless team from a traitor on a metal vessel in the middle of an ocean. The film is so bad that it’s a scientific miracle — it expands time, making seconds feel like minutes and 106 minutes feel like 10 hours. It also distorts the very concept of rhythm: The beginning of the film feels like the end, the middle feels like the beginning, and the end feels like neither. It’s also probably the only film ever to have been written in sync with shooting schedules: First, Stallone disappears from the whole film, then Statham disappears, while the team led by Megan Fox hijacks the screen, then Statham reappears and the team vanishes for a while, then the film itself ceases to exist while the trauma remains. It must have been a stretch to have the entire team in one scene — so many ambitions, such little time (literally). Also, a polite word about the team without Statham and Stallone — incompetent as heck. They’re like a bunch of bored high-schoolers whose only job is to get caught, taken by surprise, held at gunpoint, get locked up, or make jokes that don’t land.

Speaking about (not) landing, Stallone’s character Barney Ross — the leader of the not-so-golden oldies — dies in a plane crash within the first 15 minutes of the film, during an ill-fated Libya mission. The rest of them then spend the rest of the movie trying to hunt down that Barney-killing mercenary, who is also a former British agent (hired by a shadowy villain called Ocelot) in control of the nuclear warhead that can start World War III. Except, anyone with half a brain cell will know that there’s no way Barney can be dead so soon — even if Stallone has officially quit the franchise. Another indicator is the sight of the worst corpse in the history of corpses. When Christmas (Statham) sprints towards the wreckage of the plane, he sees what can best be described as a charred mannequin covered in red jelly and smoky chocolate sauce. Never mind that the death is unceremonious and tacky; the severed skeletal hand (with his wedding ring) is placed in their bar as a tribute. It’s just senile storytelling.

Once Christmas is kicked off the team for messing up things in Libya, he follows them anyway when they try to stop the mercenary on a ship in Asian waters. He knows they’re idiots, not least his ex-lover Gina (Fox), whose botox is only the second best performer in the film after Andy Garcia’s cigar. The events on the ship (which, mind you, has a nuclear warhead on board) are so incoherent and loud that you can almost hear the Titanic turning in its grave. There’s a nonsensical bike chase on the ship, an Expendable who pees to open a metal door, a helicopter that bombs the ship, a CGI sky that makes Windows 1997 wallpapers look respectable, and of course, the ‘twist’ featuring the identity of the long-time traitor. There are also enough severed limbs, gore, bloodshed, bullets and amputated heads to put the first 20 minutes of Saving Private Ryan to shame. Unfortunately, there’s no shark action, and the ocean is treated as a glorified nuclear testing site that would bring Oppenheimer back to life.

Let’s also talk a bit about the cult of Jason Statham. In my lowest moments, when I’m beset by a lack of self-confidence, I think of Statham and the fact that an utterly inert boulder like him has managed to be a Hollywood star in this same universe. It fills me with hope. If Statham can make it in life doing nothing but sexily growl at the oxygen that surrounds him, anyone can. It’s a success story that looks like a phenomenal failure. I hear he’s going to spearhead the franchise going forward, which only means that the Statham Cinematic Universe (SCU) might expand its horizons into outer space (where sound will be the protagonist). If we’re lucky, that is. If we’re not, Stallone’s ghost will haunt Expendable5 and Expenda6les till the end of time. If we’re unluckier than that, 50 Cent — who acts like he’s rapping in reverse while asleep — might take over. And that won’t suit the ingenuity of Expen$ables. Our two cents will forever be stronger than a dollar-store-style movie franchise.