“Hey dirtbag, you’re a lousy shot. I don’t like lousy shots. You wasted a kid… for nothing. Now I think it’s time to waste you.” – Marion Cobretti

Full Synopsis (Warning – RIFE with Spoilers)

In the crime-riddled Los Angeles of 1986, Lieutenant Marion “Cobra” Cobretti (Sylvester Stallone) is a member of the LAPD’s elite “Zombie Squad,” called in when situations are beyond salvation. The film opens with a supermarket hostage crisis where Cobretti eliminates a crazed gunman who cryptically mentions something called the “New World” before dying.

After the incident, Cobretti faces criticism from Detective Monte for his brutal methods, but soon finds himself investigating a series of seemingly random killings. These murders turn out to be the work of “The New World,” a social Darwinist cult led by a towering psychopath known as the “Night Slasher” (Brian Thompson). Their philosophy? “The strong shall hunt the weak.”

When model and businesswoman Ingrid Knudsen (Brigitte Nielsen) witnesses the cult on a murder spree, she becomes their primary target. Cobretti and his partner Sergeant Gonzales (Reni Santoni) are assigned to protect her. As the cult closes in, Cobretti takes Knudsen to the small town of San Remos, where a romance develops between them amid the danger.

Unknown to Cobretti, Officer Nancy Stalk (Lee Garlington) – secretly the cult’s second-in-command – has infiltrated his protective detail. This betrayal leads to a violent assault on their safe house in San Remos, forcing Cobretti, Knudsen, and Gonzales to flee. The chase culminates at a steel mill where Cobretti faces off against the Night Slasher and his acolytes. After a brutal fight, Cobretti impales the Night Slasher on a hook that drags him into a furnace, ending his reign of terror once and for all.

The Stallone That Could Have Been

Let me take you back to 1986. Reagan’s in the White House, hair is big, and Stallone is king. But not Rocky Stallone, not even Rambo Stallone. I’m talking about the Stallone that almost wasn’t – the one who wanted to turn Beverly Hills Cop into a blood-soaked action flick before the studio balked and cast Eddie Murphy instead.

That rejected vision didn’t die; it mutated into Cobra, a film that answers the question: “What if Dirty Harry had less restraint and more matchsticks?”

Crime is the Disease. COBRA is the Cure.

Cobra is cinema distilled to its most primal elements: a man, his gun, his cool car, and his unwavering belief that due process is for wimps. Stallone plays Lieutenant Marion “Cobra” Cobretti (yes, that name is real, and yes, it’s glorious), a cop who treats Miranda rights like optional extras and carries a custom Colt .45 with a cobra on the grip because subtlety is for lesser men.

The film sees Cobretti protecting a witness (Nielsen) from a cult of social Darwinist murderers led by the “Night Slasher” (Thompson). It’s essentially a feature-length excuse for Stallone to look cool while dispatching bad guys in increasingly creative ways.

The Good, the Bad, and the Violently Excessive

Director George P. Cosmatos and Stallone deliver a film that runs at a breakneck 89 minutes – down from an initial 130-minute cut that was hacked to pieces to allow more daily screenings after Top Gun’s success. This butchery of the original vision is painfully evident, with plot elements vanishing without explanation and character development sacrificed at the altar of more Stallone screen time.

Yet somehow, the film works. It’s like watching a fever dream of Reagan-era anxieties about crime, packaged in a sleek, neon-lit wrapper. Stallone, always wearing aviators and black gloves, chewing on a matchstick like it personally offended him, creates an indelible action hero. As Stallone described it, Cobretti was supposed to be “Bruce Springsteen with a badge” – a gritty, working-class hero with a punk-rock edge.

The Action that Defined an Era

The action sequences in Cobra exemplify 1980s excess at its finest. The supermarket shootout that opens the film establishes Cobretti’s approach to negotiation: talk less, shoot more. When faced with a hostage-taker, he doesn’t waste time with psychological tactics – he just puts a knife through the guy’s sternum after a classic one-liner.

Then there’s the car chase through San Remos, a masterclass in vehicular mayhem. Cobretti’s custom 1950 Mercury (Stallone’s actual personal car) tears through small-town America while cult members on motorcycles attack from all sides. It’s gloriously over-the-top, with explosions punctuating every turn.

But nothing tops the final showdown at the steel mill. The factory floor, bathed in hellish red light and billowing steam, becomes a perfect arena for Cobretti’s final confrontation with the Night Slasher. Their axe-versus-gun duel culminates in one of action cinema’s most satisfying villain deaths: the Night Slasher impaled on a hook and sent screaming into a furnace. It’s excessive, it’s brutal, and it’s exactly what this film needed.

The Punchline that Became a Cultural Classic

Upon release, critics absolutely eviscerated Cobra. With a pathetic 17% currently on Rotten Tomatoes, it’s no surprise that the film was dismissed as mindless ultraviolence. It even scored six Razzie nominations, including Worst Picture, Worst Actor, and Worst Actress. Ouch.

Yet something strange happened over the decades. What was once mocked has become celebrated. The film has influenced filmmakers like Nicolas Winding Refn, who paid homage to Cobretti’s matchstick in “Drive” – a tidbit Ryan Gosling, a self-professed Cobra fan, likely appreciated.

Why? Because Cobra doesn’t pretend to be anything it isn’t. It’s a pure distillation of 1980s action movie tropes, unencumbered by nuance or restraint. In an era of focus-grouped blockbusters, there’s something refreshing about a film that commits so completely to its vision, however flawed that vision might be.

The Verdict: A Beautiful Disaster

Cobra is objectively not a good film. The plot is nonsensical, the characters paper-thin, and the dialogue often laughable. But goddamn if it isn’t a perfect time capsule of 1980s excess, starring a Stallone at the absolute peak of his star power.

Every frame drips with stylistic choices that scream 1986, from the neon-lit streets to Brigitte Nielsen’s impossibly sculptural hairdo. The film exists in a universe where problems can be solved with one-liners and well-placed bullets, where the line between justice and vengeance is conveniently blurred.

I love Cobra not despite its flaws but because of them. It’s a film made with absolute conviction in its own ridiculousness. In today’s landscape of carefully calibrated franchise entries, there’s something almost heroic about a movie this unapologetically itself.

So pour yourself something strong, lower your critical standards, and enjoy the spectacle of Sylvester Stallone at his most Stallone. Crime is the disease. Cobra is the cure. And sometimes, that’s exactly the prescription we need, right?

Rating: 3 out of 5 matchsticks