As I sat down in the auditorium and removed my Ray Bans, the theater lights gleaming off of the zippers of my parachute pants, I adjusted my headband and prepared to be taken back to a time of cold war anxiety, greed and over-the-top action movie violence.

I wanted to revisit a time when we could have action heroes with names like Sylvester and Arnold. I tucked my Rubik’s Cube into the pocket of my denim jacket and waited to be carried away by the pinnacle of the ’80s era action hero: John Rambo.

What I experienced instead with “Rambo” was a sad attempt by a rapidly aging action has-been to drive an adrenaline shot into the heart of his dying career in one last desperate attempt to remain relevant with today’s youth.

Stallone’s cause is not helped by the flashbacks to the original trilogy in which we see a toned, yet slim, physique. When the film brings us back to the modern era, it becomes apparent that Stallone has relied on human growth hormones to stay in killing shape. He has gone from a lean and muscular figure to a hulking mass of muscle at a time when most men are preparing for retirement.

The plot itself does nothing to save the movie. It revolves around a naïve and ill-prepared missionary group which manages to talk Rambo into leading them up water from Thailand to Burma, even though it goes against his better judgment. This comes about from some of the most unconvincing acting this side of the last Rob Schneider movie. The lead female and male missionaries (Julie Benz and Paul Schulze) put on a “Showgirls” quality acting display. Stallone, as the writer and director of the film, wisely limits his opportunities to emote. He would have been better served to do the same with these two. And yes, I realize that complaining about the acting in a Rambo film is akin to bemoaning a politician’s lack of integrity. It’s just kind of expected. But the ineptitude of these actors makes it difficult to feel compassion for them when they are inevitably attacked and captured in a brutal scene which manages to include a baby being stabbed, a boy shot, at least one gang rape and the ever-popular mass genocide.

What this film lacks in polish it makes up for in gore. While the aforementioned scene was probably the most difficult to watch, it was not the end of the carnage. Gang rape makes a reappearance, the guards devise a gruesome game of “Find the Explosives,” and limbs are severed, heads removed and entrails strewn throughout the climactic scene. The ratcheting up of the gore seems an obvious attempt to shock an audience made numb by the new horror film wave. What it accomplishes instead is to accentuate the desperation of the film.

But no film can be completely devoid of good, can it? Following is a list of what I learned from “Rambo.”

n Sylvester Stallone must be too busy hitting the gym and defending HGH to keep up with geography. Burma is no more, Sly. It’s Myanmar now.

n Thanks to an apparently very liberal R rated policy, many of Joplin’s youth were able to enjoy the wonders of disembowelment.

n There really is a movie called “The Midnight Meat Train,” and it will probably live up to its title. Perhaps Stallone can learn something from lowered expectations.

Address correspondence to Benji Tunnell, c/o The Joplin Globe, P.O. Box 7, Joplin, MO 64802 or benjitunnell@gmail.com.