Bennett. Like Cher. Or Madonna. Only with even more appeal to gay men. In the entirety of 80’s Action, more ink has been spilled in Bennett’s name than perhaps any other figure. Years ago, attending an anniversary screening of Commando with director Mark Lester on hand for questions, the first inquiry from a feverish (and exclusively male) audience was, naturally, “While you were directing the film, did you realize Bennett would be seen as a castoff from a Judas Priest video?”
Bennett is more than iconic; he’s the most representative sample of the entire 80’s Action ethos in the history of the screen. Just whisper his name, and the images (and words) before us become immediate and unmistakable: “I don’t need the girl”, that sly moustache, leather trousers, one glorious buzzcut, and the eternal “Let off some steam” to dispatch the poor bastard to Hades. After a good two dozen viewings, he still has me at knitted chainmail.
We all know the story. Bennett helps kidnap the young daughter of John Matrix not for fame, or glory, or even a paycheck. He’s there because he wants one final showdown. Preferably naked. It’s everything the genre promised and more: we fight, so as not to fuck. But if the fighting fails, fucking it shall be. The climactic battle is a deliriously brilliant sequence, arguably more influential than the mise-en-scene of Battleship Potemkin. There are enough punches, grunts, sweat, and sarcasm for a hundred action pictures. And if the rest of the original print had been burned to a cinder during a test screening, we’d still have an unqualified masterpiece. Lester all but admitted he just sighed and got out of the way. A ballet of beefcake has never been so poetic.
Because any number of internet warriors have done a deep dive on the Tao of Bennett, any fresh take must immediately justify its very existence. Why here? Why now? Why again? One, any Hall of Fame would be pointless without him, as if Cooperstown decided to block the door to Willie Mays or Babe Ruth. More importantly, though, a tipping of the cap beyond the near-staggering level of homoerotic appeal must be put into the ether. At bottom (see, not even I can resist), Bennett blasts away all comers (sigh) because of his undeniably endearing sadism. 80’s Action is littered with cold-blooded mercenaries, hired guns, and paycheck patriots. Here, in the flesh, is a man who simply loves to kill. For its own sake. Because it makes him feel alive. His simplicity is the key to his unbridled charm.
Consider his fearless retort to Dan Hedaya’s wannabe dictator, after hearing that his soldiers were patriots: “Your soldiers are nothing. Matrix and I can kill every single one of them in the blink of an eye.” And so they could. Bennett is no revolutionary; if he signed on to an Arius administration, it wouldn’t be because he’s partial to land reform. He’d be a greased-up G. Gordon Liddy, murdering on command, with a few extra kills off the books, just to help him get through the night. There are no sides to confuse loyalties. Just a single-minded worship of death, preferably with as much suffering as possible. If anything, after sending thousands of peasants to Jesus, he’d be just as likely to butcher the head man himself, if only to keep things honest.
So yes, Bennett. Again. Forever and always the starting point to any 80’s Action conversation. I wish I could provide more originality or break new ground with a superhuman level of subtext that goes too far (even for me), but it’s enough that his bronze bust takes its place in the gallery of heroes. It’s the love affair that never fades. The unending Christmas. The beaming smile whenever the world gets too heavy. Simply the best, friends. “I’ll make it quick, just for old time’s sake.” Sadly, yes. Because we’d all like you to stay awhile. For the night at least.
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