MOVIE REVIEW : U.S. MARINES VS. ARABS IN ‘DISHONOR’

Come with us now to mythical Jamal, the place of “Death Before Dishonor” (citywide). It’s a desert land, swimming in blood and sand--where a band of kill-crazy Arabs, advised by a German fashion model and her sidekick, are spreading a reign of incomprehensible terror.

What a crew! The felonious Amin, the degenerate Zabib, the sadistic Said and their depraved leader, the jelly-bellied Jihad. Their perfidy is endless as the sands. They slaughter diplomats, blow up embassies and kidnap U.S. Marines--whom they imprison and torture with electric drills and horrible mugging.

By the beard of the prophet, what possesses these fiends? Why do they leer, roll their eyes and scream incoherently? And what possesses the Marines, who act just as strangely? Why do these fighting men spend their time chugging beer from helmets, butting heads, pinning medals on each other’s bare chests and telling bad jokes?

Only time will tell. Time, and the trickling sands--which would have done better to trickle over this entire movie. “Death Before Dishonor” is another chunk of warmed-over Rambo--another big, blowzy, blood-drenched revenge movie, in which the stunts are buried under the slogans. (What can we expect next? “Slaughter Before Surrender”? “Shootouts Before Shame”? “Carnage Before Conversation”?)

Here, the mini-Rambo is ex-Rams defensive end Fred Dryer. (If Dryer were an inch taller than his 6 foot 6, he’d be over the Marines’ limit.) As Gunnery Sgt. Jack Burns, he spends his time arguing with wimpy diplomats, killing maniacs and flirting and glowering at a radical photojournalist (Joanna Pacula). Finally, Burns and his remaining Marines leave the U.S. ambassador (Paul Winfield) gibbering witlessly in the smoking ruins of his bombed embassy and join Israeli intelligence in a desert assault on the assassin’s lair. There, a miracle occurs. A buddy dies in Burns’ arms. Eerily, the fighting stops, the gunfire is quelled and “The Marine Hymn” soars up. (Who says movie makers have no sentiment?)

Most of “Death Before Dishonor” (MPAA-rated: R)--done slightly tongue in cheek--is about as much fun as being kidnaped and tortured by terrorists. (Brian Keith is trapped in it as Dryer’s ruggedly grinning colonel; couldn’t we ransom him out?) Even so, first-time director Terry Leonard--a stunt man and second-unit director on “Apocalypse Now” and “Red Dawn”--stages his action crisply and keeps it charging along like a rhino crashing into a Jeep.

The faster the better: This isn’t the kind of stuff you’d want to linger over. But what rapscallion has written these lines? Who tortures us with this stone-headed levity, these howling slogans, these caricatures and characters with minds of mufti? May he relent, and sin no more against his helpless fellow humans--whose only crime was buying a movie ticket, and for whom death (or dishonor) before “Death Before Dishonor” may begin to seem an attractive alternative.