Sylvester Stallone's Cobra (1986) is a delicious example of how a second-rate effort can illuminate a genre. Reportedly, Stallone had walked away from the lead in Beverly Hills Cop (1984) when differences arose regarding his input for the script. Many of his ideas were subsequently transplanted into the script for Cobra (much to Eddie Murphy's benefit).
Cobra provides a point-for-point demonstration of the mechanics of the ?action cop film. The movie starts big, introducing our hero via dramatic shoot-out in a grocery store only tangentially related to the rest of the movie. It is a unintentionally comic sequence, indebted to Eastwood's Harry Callahan, who first nailed he "urban western" that is the action movie. Except the derivative nature of the effort shows. Item after item that was intended to convey originality instead sounds a false tone. Stallone looks ridiculous posed behind mirrored over-sized Ray-Bans. He worries a cooking match in his mouth because, well, cigarettes are not cool. He sports a three day growth because, hey, it's the 80's. Next, the fetish handgun, again recalling Harry's .44 Magnum, Sly sporting a ridiculous Colt .45 with ivory grips, a la Patton, a silly gun that would never be chosen by anyone actually serious about such things.
Next comes the comic-relief partner, (played joylessly by Rene Santori, who did similar thankless work in the original Dirty Harry), and the hard-ass police captain with little patience for his rogue detective. ?The charismatic car, in this case, is Stallone's own 1950 Mercury coupe, which may be sort of neat in its own way, but looks absurd in the requisite chase scene. The "cool" bachelor pad is a converted warehouse in Venice Beach that just looks like space borrowed from the film lab that was processing the dailies, where Cobra lives on cold pizza he trims with scissors whilst keeping his lonely watch over the city in the smog. The female lead is a sadly dated Brigitte Nielsen, looking very 80's with big hair and skin-tight jeans, blessed with acting chops that are similarly stiff and tight. The bad guys are absurd, motive-less, frankly insane right-wing kooksusually a safe "go-to" choice when it comes to bad guys, from Magnum Force (1973) to Lethal Weapon 2 (1989). But here they just come off as relentlessly stupid.
Of course, the depiction of traditional lines of authority as suspect, and of violence as a the chief instrument of morality is central to the movie and the genre. As with all other aspects of this movie, Cobra reveals the creaky stage machinery behind its derivative conceits. The climactic shoot-out/car chase is an illogical, patently ridiculous, gratuitous blood-letting that culminates in the villain being impaled on a hook and then burned alive, with our hero looking on with smug approval. It was a termination Himmler would have been proud of, and of which Cheney may still only dream.
I could go on about the poor quality of the script, the indifferent cinematography, and the rancid acting, but suffice it to say that all are in keeping with the rest of the product. After watching Cobra, it is difficult to go back and watch a decent urban action film without becoming aware of the clank and creak of genre's formula.
Cobra provides a point-for-point demonstration of the mechanics of the ?action cop film. The movie starts big, introducing our hero via dramatic shoot-out in a grocery store only tangentially related to the rest of the movie. It is a unintentionally comic sequence, indebted to Eastwood's Harry Callahan, who first nailed he "urban western" that is the action movie. Except the derivative nature of the effort shows. Item after item that was intended to convey originality instead sounds a false tone. Stallone looks ridiculous posed behind mirrored over-sized Ray-Bans. He worries a cooking match in his mouth because, well, cigarettes are not cool. He sports a three day growth because, hey, it's the 80's. Next, the fetish handgun, again recalling Harry's .44 Magnum, Sly sporting a ridiculous Colt .45 with ivory grips, a la Patton, a silly gun that would never be chosen by anyone actually serious about such things.
Next comes the comic-relief partner, (played joylessly by Rene Santori, who did similar thankless work in the original Dirty Harry), and the hard-ass police captain with little patience for his rogue detective. ?The charismatic car, in this case, is Stallone's own 1950 Mercury coupe, which may be sort of neat in its own way, but looks absurd in the requisite chase scene. The "cool" bachelor pad is a converted warehouse in Venice Beach that just looks like space borrowed from the film lab that was processing the dailies, where Cobra lives on cold pizza he trims with scissors whilst keeping his lonely watch over the city in the smog. The female lead is a sadly dated Brigitte Nielsen, looking very 80's with big hair and skin-tight jeans, blessed with acting chops that are similarly stiff and tight. The bad guys are absurd, motive-less, frankly insane right-wing kooksusually a safe "go-to" choice when it comes to bad guys, from Magnum Force (1973) to Lethal Weapon 2 (1989). But here they just come off as relentlessly stupid.
Of course, the depiction of traditional lines of authority as suspect, and of violence as a the chief instrument of morality is central to the movie and the genre. As with all other aspects of this movie, Cobra reveals the creaky stage machinery behind its derivative conceits. The climactic shoot-out/car chase is an illogical, patently ridiculous, gratuitous blood-letting that culminates in the villain being impaled on a hook and then burned alive, with our hero looking on with smug approval. It was a termination Himmler would have been proud of, and of which Cheney may still only dream.
I could go on about the poor quality of the script, the indifferent cinematography, and the rancid acting, but suffice it to say that all are in keeping with the rest of the product. After watching Cobra, it is difficult to go back and watch a decent urban action film without becoming aware of the clank and creak of genre's formula.