The critics have spoken: Rambo is the nauseatingly brutal, 2.59-gruesome-kills-per-minute, Burmese-missionary-eviscerating, desperation-comeback-vehicle thrill-ride of the late-January moviegoing season! "Stunningly, unrelenting violent," declares the Dallas Morning News! "[A]n adrenaline pump and purveyor of raw carnage[!!!]," raves the Philadelphia Inquirer.

"Blowing heads off and slicing abdomens is man's work...the movie does have its own kind of blockheaded poetry," says a quote we've shamelessly strung together from two disconnected paragraphs by the NY Times' A.O. Scott in an attempt to pump up the head-exploding, critical-outrage action of this round-up. It should go without saying that these reviews have only served to make us more excited for our Rambo outing this weekend, with our moviegoing plans now expanded to include our shirtless, bandoliered attendance at all five of the ArcLight's Saturday screenings, brandishing the (inoperable—come on, we're not crazy) rocket-launcher we plan to pick up at Supply Sergeant before we head over to the theater.