In The Last Mercenary, the antagonist Simyon’s den—a gaming arcade equipped with a private movie theatre (every millennial’s wet dream)—is riddled with posters of American classics such as War Games, A View to Kill, Jaws, Rocky Balboa, Terminator 2: Judgment Day, and Escape from New York. Simyon himself is obsessed with Brian De Palma’s Scarface and emulates Al Pacino’s Tony Montana. The film too, as an extension, feels like an imitation.
It has little to offer in terms of novelty and doesn’t strain to rise above whatever strength brought upon by its meta-commentary. The swashbuckling Richard (Jean-Claude Van Damme) aka The Mist, a killing machine, has to come out of exile when he learns that the life of his estranged son is in danger. The film follows a tried-and-tested template that is generic at best and tiringly unoriginal at worst.
We have seen it all: a bunch of dissimilar individuals teaming up for a mission, a distant father and son bonding over the course of the story, the young son letting go of his fears in the process, an evil corporation chasing the squad... throw a stone and you are likely to hit a garden-variety plot point. However, the quirky humour keeps it afloat to an extent, before redundancy robs the shtick of its charm. The action sequences, too, have hardly anything unique to offer, beyond Van Damme wearing a blonde wig during the climax. Truth be told, I had more fun spotting posters in the background than watching the stunt sequences.
The film is not entirely devoid of mirth though. Van Damme gets a great meta moment, though you may argue that he is essentially essaying an updated version of his character from, say, Lion Heart or Universal Soldier. He peeks at the poster of his 1988 film, Bloodsport, and goes, “That’s a real man.” Jokes like this pervade this universe; some work, but many, sadly, don’t. There are all kinds of jokes in this film. There’s slapstick comedy: a man is compelled to ride a scooter on the streets of Paris wearing only his undergarments.
There’s wordplay: the name of a character is a recurring joke; and a wise Van Damme later says, “Killing kills”. There’s some black comedy: the death of a character early on in the film is, literally, a deadpan act. And most importantly, the majority of the film operates on the verge of parody. The dialogues are often enjoyably cheesy, and the characters intentionally caricaturish. These aspects and a few reasonably efficient action set-pieces come together to save this film.