As Outposters, we all know that we spent a lot of our youth wandering the aisles of a video rental store on a Friday night, clutching a can of Coke and a bag of overpriced popcorn, arguing with our friends about whether to rent Commando again or try something “new”.
When viewed through that lens, The Wrecking Crew is basically our childhood punching through a wall and yelling obscenities.
Released just this week on Amazon Prime Video, it is a buddy action-comedy that decides to see what would happen if you put Jason Momoa and Dave Bautista together as estranged half-brothers, gave them a pile of guns, and just said:
“Go blow some shit up! What’s the worst that can happen?”
Forced back together after their father’s suspicious death, they are led into a conspiracy, explosions, and mayhem. By “mayhem,” we mean ridiculous property destruction that would make even Dirty Harry’s bosses at City Hall wince. Their goal, seemingly, is to smash first, and ask questions… never.
Let’s be clear. This is not “cinema”. This is not “a motion picture”. It is Friday night entertainment that requires your brain to be turned off as you grab another beer and a slice of pizza. Words cannot describe how stupid it is, which is entirely in proportion to the grin it can put on your face if you go into it with the right mindset.
Did you enjoy Amazon’s last foray into this kind of thing? Heads Of State? If you did, then this is the same vibe. Same result. This can’t even spell “high brow”. This is a movie that looked at subtlety, taste, and dignity and said, “Nah,” then subtlety packed a suitcase and walked out in disgust. It knows that violence is OK as long as you make it funny
It really is nicely violent and bloody, but in that gleeful, crowd-pleasing way where limbs fly, glass shatters, and you’re laughing instead of wincing. The film is rated R for strong violence, language, and adult content, which feels about right.
One scene involving an arm would have joined my VHS hall of fame if I were still 12 years old. Honestly, at times this movie feels like someone found a dusty box labeled “1987 Direct-to-VHS Action Classics” and used it as an instruction manual.
Collateral damage is just a suggestion. Things collapse. Cars flip. Entire scenes end up looking like they would have got away with less damage if Godzilla were involved. The police are hilariously absent whenever the movie needs them to be, in that way that only the 1980s can make it make sense.
The dialogue is basically a conveyor belt of one-liners, insults, brotherly trash talk, and profanity-laced banter like an ‘80s Stallone and Arnie caper got lost in time and crash-landed on a streaming service.
Momoa plays the loose-cannon type while Bautista leans into the disciplined tough guy, and their chemistry is surprising. Shallow as a kids paddling pool, but it all just works given the requirements of the nonsense at hand.
Jacob Batalon deserves special mention for deploying a world-class potty mouth, a world away from the cleanliness of the MCU. Morena Baccarin turns up and makes you remember why Brazil must be protected at all costs. Claes Bang, Netflix’s Dracula, does a moustache-twirling turn as a villain and continues to shape up to be a seriously fun bad-guy actor. He is backed up by a Yakuza that are so hilariously incompetent you half expect them to apologize mid-fight.
This was clearly written by someone who misses video stores. To give you an idea of how much it understood the assignment, there is even a “kitting up” scene.
Just before some mortal combat, one character genuinely says “Let’s dance!” and in another showdown a hero says they should go without guns so they can settle it like men.
It is like somebody thought:
“Movies are shit these days. How about if we just made something like the stuff we used to rent?”
It is not big. It is not clever. It is, objectively, as a movie, complete trash. But if you decide to watch it, you won’t be there for cleverness.
There is something pure about its loud idiocy and earnest desire just to entertain in the most old-skool way. It’s like JCVD at the height of his powers, or Steven Seagal before he became obviously insufferable.
Unplug brain. Grab beer. Turn up sound system. You know you want to, you dirty movie whore.
