Make no mistake: The Expendables is a guys’ movie. Your ears are going to hear far more tendons snapping, bones crunching, knives slicing, bodies impacting, guns firing, blood splatting, and explosions exploding (accompanied with anticipatory music) than they will dialog. What dialog there is I found generally snarky and lighthearted when it’s not busy filling itself with clichés. Don’t get me wrong; clichés are good when it comes to guy movies. Guns. Explosions. Grunting. Men want you to just keep heaping that stuff on the plate like bacon on their breakfasts. It might not be good for you, but it tastes good. This is not a date movie. It is not a chick flick. The Bechdet Test doesn’t even appear on this movie’s radar. In fact, there are only four women in it. The first is crying. The second has to be asked her name. The third, when she’s not crying, draws pictures of women crying. And the fourth is listed in the credits as “Old Woman Bartender.” I spent last weekend at Crypticon. You can see a few of the photos I took, along with photos other people took, at Flickr's Crypticon Group. This coming Saturday, June 2nd, I will be at the Olympia Comic Festival. I hope to see a lot of South Sounders there.
