A stomach churning potpourri of explosions, gunfire and army trucks ramming through grass and twig huts. The needle in a haystack plot seems to involve our protagonist rescuing his family from some South American drug cartel, or something. At one point Carradine yells those immortal words: “get the hell out of here” through closed lips. The villain of the piece never utters a line of dialogue, preferring instead to stalk about in a cape, squinting cannily beneath beret and drooping mustache (with hawk perched on shoulder for added effect). Avoid at all costs, unless you enjoy beating yourself repeatedly over the head with a flail.
