D-Tox review

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Sylvester Stallone’s latest entrée into the canon of cinéma vérité classics sees the former ‘80s action man continue his inexorable journey toward straight-to-video ignominy.

Setting himself a herculean task, the former Mr Brigitte Nielsen tackles two equally tired genres: the slasher movie and the serial killer flick. Starting out as a Se7en-alike thriller in which a cop-hating maniac is on the loose doing decidedly uncharitable things with a drill, the action abruptly switches to a disused military installation-cum-detox centre.

Sly’s alcoholic FBI agent is there to dry out, as are a bunch of other broken-down rozzers, but – ain’t life a bitch? – his plucky nemesis has joined him.

A nasty, witless whodunnit ensues, the filmmakers assuming the audience is as stupid as they are themselves. Things aren’t helped by Stallone looking pensionable and Tom Berenger and Robert Patrick wearing befuddled expressions as they wonder what the hell happened to their careers. Best line goes to the latter’s wired misogynist, protesting his SWAT capabilities: “We don’t wait around for the shitstorm – we are the shitstorm!” Amen to that.

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