Overview: A beefy cop named Jack Ryan runs around with a fanny pack beating up guys in Jamaican blackface in search of the unstoppable face-eating cyborg who killed his idiot brother. Meanwhile, the diabolical Dr. Jon Rhys-Davies flies his model kamikaze planes around blowing people to hell, because Science.
The Case For: Imagine if Fonzie was drafted for Vietnam and had to crawl through mile after mile of bad bush and exploded gut-filled spider holes with nothing but his trusty leather and denim. Now imagine Fonzie not being cool at all and wearing a fanny pack everywhere, and instead of saying "Ayyyyyy" he says the dumbest things you've ever heard every time he opens his gaping shit-filled mouth. That's Cyborg Cop.
The Case Against: This movie features some of the dumbest government agents/commandos we've ever seen on film, and that's saying a lot. Even Duncan fucking Jax knew better than to wear blue jeans as jungle camouflage.
Let's just start this review off with the radioactive elephant in the room: the fanny pack. It's in practically every scene. With our "hero" wearing it backwards (frontwards?) the whole time. So let's just get all of our wrong-way fanny pack jokes out of the way right 'up front': all the crotchy packs and groiny packs, the massive hiatal hernia gags, the Australian backpack bit obviously, the big dangling leathery strap-sack, something about a hip huggler...
Okay, now that we've got that out of our systems, let's meet the man barely contained by those inglorious buckles, our hero of the hour, renegade DEA agent Jack Ryan. And no, we're not shitting you or setting up a bit here, that is actually the character's name. Tom Clancy's dirty secret? You decide. Jack Ryan is a badass ex-DEA ball-buster with a heart of ripped, vascular gold and about 5 seconds worth of cloyingly cute orphan/nephew/street urchin hanger-on to prove it. All that, plus he's both Dukes of Hazzard rolled into one:
He is prepared at all times to kick people through any and every manner of thing, but when he's not busy relaxing at the Shadowy Cabal Henchmen Pool Hall and Sickeningly Precocious Childrens' Eatery or literally punching clocks at his job of...being retired at the age of 32 on a government salary...what he really likes to do is go on dangerous stealth commando missions to...Jamaica?.
Now, as we all know, you need some pretty sophisticated badass secret spy gadgets and other essential top-shelf paramilitary gear if you're gonna go on dangerous stealth commando missions against armies of heavily armed guerrillas alone. More than that, you're going to need exactly the right conditions, timing, air temperature, stomach pH, mountain goat food, falconing lessons, and fanny packs to have even a sliver of hope at succeeding/not getting chopped up with machetes and insufflated as part of some weird voodoo ritual. Since Jack Ryan is too dumb and crappy a hero to have any of these things (except the fanny pack), he instead opts to go with this list of essential infiltration accessories:
- Mom jeans
- Fanny pack
- Broad daylight
- Sickass pump
- Fanny pack
- Cartoon ticking clock bombs ala Wile E. Coyote (to be hucked over the enemy compound's fence as a standard "I'm sneaking in" warning-greeting, of course)
- Army of goons pretty good at backflipping through railings like someone spin kicked them in the face for real to try to look like they're getting in the way
- Fanny pack
 Or as the natives call it, the Jafakeia Heart of Darkness Evil Genius Sanctuary and Sovereign Reggae Lounge.
At what point does your ruthless gnawing count as self-cannibalism?
Liberals want to mess with the rooms where we poo and pee. Unacceptable. We must protect our poo and pee.
These all just look like normal cats to me.
From what I understand, this genre is about getting eaten by crocodiles. I excel at this.
Something Awful reviews the absolute worst movies out there. We focus mostly on horror and science fiction, because all writers here on Something Awful are huge nerds.