The first thing one might notice about The Expendables is its cast, a collection of tough guys from the past and present. The all-star cast is so often seen as a mere marketing ploy, but in The Expendables, it serves a finer, more poignant function. At the core of this film is a rather remarkable scene that finds Mickey Rourke’s character Tool–what a name!–delivering a heartbreaking monologue on finitude and entropy. The name Tool is perfect: these are men who have given their bodies in service of other’s aims, all in exchange for money and, perhaps, their souls. We’ve heard this theme many times before, but Stallone here pushes it to a scabrous breaking point–before ultimately pulling back somewhat through the requisite narrative closure of the film’s ending. Stallone has casted men who have endured these same toils as part of their careers. So there are not only the action stars whose bodies provide them their livelihood and mythical personae, but there is also a football player, a UFC champion, and a professional wrestler. Though these men don’t possess acting ability in the conventional sense, their bodies no doubt tell countless stories. And Rourke’s presence at the film’s narrative core is similarly appropriate: his career has witnessed a resurrection after being left for dead. In this scene, he articulates the fear of nearly everyone that, in the end, one’s limitations (physical, mental, emotional) will surpass one’s will, leaving behind more failure than success, more instances of caving to fear and apathy than moments of grandeur or transcendence. Rourke’s Tool doesn’t so much fear the disintegration of his own body–these men probably have come to terms with their own mortality more than most have–he fears that the soul’s memory is greater than the body’s, that the headlong rush towards death cannot mask the deeper levels of suffering that only grow louder and more intense with age. The effect is an awareness of one’s futility suffused with the knowledge that one doubtlessly could have done better.
As a complement to Rourke’s Tool, Jason Statham’s Lee Christmas embodies the similar concerns of a younger, more able man. In the beginning of the film, after returning from the team’s most recent job, Christmas finds his girlfriend with another man. This subplot shows the inverse of Rourke’s confusion: even if you make something of a life for yourself, there is always the fear that you will be replaced. What is poignant is the way this drama is acted out by men who are like the cinematic equivalent of machines (tools), needing to be replaced after years of wear and tear, and by the looks of it, some of the men in this film are due for a tune-up, if not a visit to the junkyard. Arnold Schwarzenegger makes a cameo in one scene, but his presence is like a phantom’s, a reminder that the world of action films is no longer his domain–leaving the cast to suffer the aches and bruises of their work while he enjoys his new life as a hologram in the world of politics. Statham’s Lee Christmas is later able to find some sort of victory when he beats up the man who replaced him (and who has been abusing Christmas’ ex-girlfriend). But even here, these are men condemned to find physical solutions to their metaphysical dilemmas. In the final scene, Lee Christmas displays his relatively youthful physical prowess in a knife-throwing game with Tool, the team having returned from yet another job completed. This scene is somewhat of a diversion, a spectacle to conclude the film without resolving its deeper tensions. And anyways, how else to end the film other than with a display of male camaraderie? But it’s not enough to make us forget the scars these men are hiding behind their communal bonds. The film begins with the conclusion of one job and ends with a brief celebration after their next job; how are we to ignore the paucity of life lived in between? The mask they put on to deflect this reality is now leathery and worn, fraying at the edges. This reality is always slipping out from underneath, just as some of the cast at times slip out of believability and appear too old and weary to smoothly blend in with the sets and stunts that give them the illusion of immortality.
