Hacking through the jungle of cliche and reservoir of bad acting in Bloodsport are some pretty exciting matches. It all boils down to a confrontation between a clean-cut noble warrior and a snorting, apish, dirty fighter. As usual, it's no contest.

Forest Whitaker's cameo adds plumage to what is otherwise a well-plucked turkey, humourless and plagued by a script full of stilted mumbo-jumbo.

Bloodsport is strictly for martial arts buffs; little is offered here in the way of plot, dialog, or acting.

The fight scenes are staged cleanly enough by Newt Arnold, a veteran assistant director (to Sam Peckinpah, among others) making his debut at the helm. But the contest format is hopelessly repetitive and inert, the characters would seem underdeveloped in a comic book, and the restricted setting ensures that the action will never develop any real scale or velocity. The Chinese may take it on the chin in Bloodsport, but their own movies are infinitely better.

Bloodsport offers some lurid but fascinating bits. Chief among them: Van Damme, his feet tied to two poles, performs horrifyingly painful splits. Otherwise, Bloodsport boasts bad acting, bad photography and a bad script. So much for the art of motion pictures. [03 May 1988, p.C4]