Review of Bloodsport (1988) by Reid V — 06 Feb 2012

I, like most film fans, can appreciate the films of Kubrick, Goddard, Pabst, Bergman, and other auteurs. With patience, time, and access to a well-vetted Wikipedia page, one can slowly begin to peel back layer by layer the many different meanings encompassed in the very best of cinema.

However, it takes a certain kind of man to truly take on headfirst a film as profound, devastatingly honest, and important as Newt Arnold's Bloodsport. Arnold not only understands the human condition better than any filmmaker I have ever seen, but he also knows how to trim the fat and get to the very heart of what keeps people coming back to the movies over and over again. All of this, and much much more, is on display here in Bloodsport.

Arnold utilizes slow motion to great effect here as he knows that watching a fibula break just isn't the same when witnessed in real time. Also, the raw energy of the immensely talented cast only adds greater depth to the already riveting story that touches on, but is not limited to: alienation, addiction, love, and above all, pain. While I am sure there are countless metaphors buried beneath all of the abdominal blows and roundhouse kicks, I couldn't even begin to touch on them here. Hell, I don't even know if a doctoral dissertation could begin to unpack all of the symbolism Arnold gives us in a single frame. It's best to leave that to the experts, should there ever exist someone willing to take on such heady subject matter.

Hitchcock once said "For me, cinema is not a slice of life, but a piece of cake." I can only assume that Hitch got his hands on an early print of Bloodsport when he said this as I can not imagine any other film being more deserving of your time than this blood-soaked masterpiece.