A sequel so monogamous to its blockbuster originator you genuinely can compare every element. Is Bob Seger’s opening credit hit Shakedown poppier than Glenn Frey’s The Heat Is On? Is Tony Scott’s glossier, more bombastic direction more entertaining than Martin Brest’s grittier, satirical tone? Do you prefer cinematographer Jeffrey Kimball’s smooth pop art visuals of Bruce Sutree’s grainier realism? Is Steven Berkoff’s overacting ham villain more of a challenge than Jürgen Prochnow’s more imposing, mysterious antagonist? Do you wanna hear Axel F. in every scene or does Harold Faltermeyer’s new percussive action theme draw you into the crime set-pieces more effectively? Is the sexual tension more rife between Johnathan Bank’s scuzzy henchman or Brigitte Nielsen’s teutonic henchwoman? Annoying boy scout Billy Rosewood or Rambo weirdo Billy Rosewood? Banana in the tail pipe or cement truck demolition derby? Nasty Girl or Gerald Ford? Ramon “the fella he met about a week ago” or Johnny Wishbone from the island of St Croy? Baby Damon Wayans walk-on or baby Chris Rock walk-on? Pointer Sisters or Pointer Sisters? Mansion shoot out or oil field bazooka-out? The first film wins pretty much all these coin tosses but it is closer than you would imagine. As a pure entertainment, this starts with the Eddie Murphy Production Company credit appearing over a close-up of the mega star rearranging his crotch. We all came to see Eddie be the biggest swinging dick in the room again. II snappily delivers, taking zero risks to fuck with that winning recipe.
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