Hey kids, ol manglecramps is limping along under his own power these days. Turns out when you spend two weeks at a time working in a converted fallout shelter your kids cry when you come home and your wife starts an OK Cupid profile. But that’s fine. It’s all for national security, right? So we’re trying something a little different right now called ‘Film Shots on Shots’. Basically instead of just drinking vodka in front of the latest streaming movies I do that thing while writing down notes until I black out. Then protagonist tries to interpret whatever drunken scrawls he finds the next day. I started off with a classic because – oh god, I just want to cry and masturbate in my car…
Universal Soldier (1992)
Starring Jean-Claude Van Damme and Dolph Lundgren
I still don’t get it. Why the Nam? I mean… why build your robot soldiers out of soldiers at all? Its not like some hippy getting drafted and taking three months of boot is a fucking killing machine. That’s literally the problem you are trying to fix by building killing machines.
That’s not how you make an ear necklace. Ears already have holes. Fucking amateur hour.
Geez, Lundgren sounds like he’s about to cry in every line of dialogue. Dint they build a little bitch subroutine in these guys? Like the same way they tell them not to feel pain and, um, like hemorrhage?
Okay, full stop. They’ve been planning these guys since 1969? Who in 1969 is freezing bodies and making cyborgs? How is that even an idea someone had? In 1969 they didn’t even have digital watches, let alone the glimmer of an idea to turn dead soldiers into cyborgs. Cassette players were like voodoo back then.
Is JCVD masking his accent? He almost sounds American. Easily the greatest accomplishment in film Roland Emmerich ever made. That must be why this film got him an Academy Award at the 1992 Secret Oscars.
Geez 1992, get your eras straight. Thos movie was made by some coke wizard with zero grasp of how technology works – or will ever work. I *wish* we had memory oblivion serum I could mainline stright into my cerebral cortex. Right now the best I got is the animal control tranq darts we use on the komodos. Fuck, now I’m jonesing for some of that sweet dart juice.
Apparently even cyborgs get Nam flashbacks… okay especially cyborgs get Nam flashbacks.
Holy shit! The President of Earth is in this movie.
I guess what they say is true: the main ingredient for any JCVD movie is a plucky blonde reporter with a fuckability rating of 9 out of 10 forehead bulges who slowly falls in love with him. Watch out, dewy-eyed robot man-child; right now it’s all ‘oh your helplessness and masculinity makes me wet’ but in ten years she’ll never stop emasculating you over how your asperger’s is bullshit and your inability to feel emotions like everyone else makes you a monster who probably never really loved her anyway.
Because when you make a billion dollar Frankensteinian black ops resurrection program on ageless Nam vets – a program that will put you in jail if its ever discovered – you use your Frankensteins to take on high-profile daylight hostage assaults in front of dozens of camera crews.
She can’t tell why a car is forced to stop when it runs out of gas? Those are some keen reporter instincts. I mean, I only went to art school and all our grades were determined by either our willingness to memorise the same speech about ‘the male gaze’ or blowing the married professors and even I know that the juice that goes in the hole makes the engine go vroom vroom.
The Unisol Frankenstein Winnebago is only four miles away and it takes them half the night to get to this hotel? JCVD pushed a Ford Bronco there faster than that. This Unisol program is wasted on making soldiers, they could be hooking these guys up like sled dogs and solve America’s dependence on foreign oil overnight. But I guess those fat cats at Big Oil are sitting on that technology just like solar energy and hemp.
Okay I don’t know what’s more disturbing, the massive amounts of depilation or that when seen nude from behind JCVD has no cock or ballsack hanging down. Only explanation: JCVD’s forehead bulge is actually his penis.
Again, he’s a zombie soldier from 1969 who is injected with so much memory erasing serum every morning he doesn’t even know what his own dick is for but somehow he knows what a subcutaneous tracking device is?
250 million dollars each to build these regenerating meat sacks? Couldn’t they just buy like 2500 regular super soldiers? Those Blackwater guys would choke out their own girlfriends for that kind of money.
Making zombies and mind erasing serum and inventing regeneration wasn’t enough now they throw in genetic enhancement and some Captain America super-strength serum. Restraint is clearly not a prerequisite for screenwriters or cocaine addicts and by a happy coincidence this movie had plenty of both.
Yes! I was starting to think JCVD wouldn’t beat up a diner full of rednecks in Kentucky squirrel pelt mullets.
Lundgren’s ‘war is hell’ speech sounds a lot like John Goodman in the Big Lebowski ranting about watching his buddies die facedown in the muck just so some strumpet can kidnap herself.
Oh good, they found a scientist to explain how the zombie cyborgs were made; ‘hyper-acceleration’, that’s a medical term, right?
Mmmm, yeah. Taste the JCVD sweat. We narrowly missed a logical opportunity to turn himself in and end this whole farce in like, 15 minutes, good thing Lundgren drove up that bus-sized plot hole to intercept it.
You know it’s 1992 by the mysterious presence of Ice T and Body Count as the end credits roll. You bankroll that soundtrack, Ice.
SPOILER ALERT: False Positive 