THE SPECIALIST (Directed by Luis Llosa. Starring Sylvester Stallone, Sharon Stone, James Woods, Rod Steiger, Eric Roberts)

I met Sylvester Stallone at the GQ Christmas party the other day. As a contributing editor for that magazine, who had been involved in extensive negotiations over a Stallone interview, I felt entirely justified in approaching the legend in his own gym time and saying hello. He was seated in a corner of the nightclub, drinking Perrier, with a sleekly attractive model draped across him to keep him warm. I didn’t pay much attention to the three men dressed in black seated at the same table, until one of them reached out his muscular arm as I passed, gripped my frankly under-developed biceps and squeezed so hard I thought he was trying to take a reading of my blood pressure. I pointed out that I hadn’t actually come across to speak to the bodyguards, interesting as they no doubt were, but wanted to have a word with the body they were guarding. “He just wants to be left alone to have a quiet drink,” said my new dancing partner, never letting go of my arm for a millisecond. “Hey, it’s a party,” I said, “if he wants a quiet drink I’m sure there’s a mini-bar in his hotel room.”

Actually, of course, I said nothing of the sort. I just started talking round the shoulder of Sly’s personal pest controller, introducing myself as if it was perfectly normal to conduct a conversation with six foot of condensed attitude in your face. Well, Sly seemed to find it normal anyway. We shook hands (which seemed to placate the bodyguard, who sat down again, still without releasing his grip), briefly discussed the interview, wished each other well, and I retired, pride relatively intact but my arm aching like fuck. A few minutes later the men in black tried to cordon off a section of the room, before it was pointed out to them that actually they were just guests here. After twenty minutes, Sly and entourage left. Jeez, does that man know how to party!

I’m telling you this because I’ve got to write something and I haven’t actually seen the movie. Warner Brothers seem to be applying the same kind of paranoid overprotectiveness to Stallone’s new film as his people do during public appearances (I mean, think about it, he accepts an invitation to a media party, then sits in a corner surrounded by bodyguards not talking to anyone but his own entourage. What did they think was going to happen? That some crazed film critic would launch a knife attack for having to sit through Rambo III? Let’s face it, a worst case scenario at one of those parties would be having a drink spilled in your lap). Only select members of the media were invited to the film’s single pre-release screening (i.e. those too polite to offend or too important to ignore), other screenings are being held too late for most magazine deadlines (normally films are shown multiple times to ensure all critics have a chance to see it, but despite repeated requests Warner Brothers declined to put on any screenings of The Specialist until the fortnight before release) and it is being released on the 26th December, a spot frequently reserved for big star movies likely to receive a critical mauling, presumably on the basis that if it hasn’t been reviewed and there’s nothing else new on release, people will go and see it anyway.

But I refuse to be manipulated in this way. Anyway, I figure I don’t actually have to see a Sylvester Stallone movie to review it. A look at the poster will usually suffice. Sly looks all sweaty and serious, while Sharon Stone looks all sultry and vixenish, and there seems to be some kind of explosion going on, so it’s a fair bet that Stone gets in trouble, Sly runs around blowing things up and sorting her enemies out, they both wind up in a sweaty, kit-off, let’s compare the size of our tits scenario (in which there will be two naked movie stars, but only one set of visible genitalia, no points for guessing whose), true love almost blooms in the face of general mayhem but Stone is not to be trusted, there’s a double cross and it all ends violently. It’ll be big, handsome, and stupid (like Sly’s bodyguard, except for the handsome bit).

The pre-release strategy does not suggest that the film company has a huge amount of confidence in its product, but as regular readers of Blow Up know, I’m a sucker for an expensive, violent, gratuitously sexist movie, so I’m going to give Sly and co. the benefit of the doubt on this one. But if I go and see it and it turns out to be a turkey, the next time I run into the star at a party I’m gonna have to kill him.