Cobra (1986)

If we strip away the ‘80s action gloss, the string of tropes and Dirty Hairy derivations that pass for a plot, Cobra plays like a duel between two brands of extremism.

On one side, you have a murderous cult determined to destroy society through chaos and violence. On the other, you have Marion Cobretti and his police allies, who meet that chaos with their own brand of unrestrained force. Both sides treat human life as expendable, and both operate outside any recognizable legal or moral framework. The villains murder civilians in cold blood, but the “good guys” kill suspects without hesitation, often without trial or even interrogation.

The language of the film insists that Cobretti’s violence is righteous because it is aimed at people we know to be evil. Yet that is precisely where the danger lies. If the only difference between the hero and the villain is who they choose to shoot, then we are no longer in the realm of justice, but of raw power.

The film’s politics are slippery. It could be read as anti-fascist, showing that the state can become as brutal as the criminals it fights. But more likely, given its tone and presentation, it is fascist in spirit: celebrating the lone, decisive enforcer who sweeps aside due process in the name of order. Whether or not Stallone and the filmmakers intended this, Cobra offers a seductive vision of authoritarianism, one where morality is defined not by principle, but by allegiance.

In that way, it is less a clean morality tale and more a mirror reflecting our own comfort with violence when it is aimed at the “right” targets. It is seductively simple to place people in categories and groups. When you don’t have to interact with individuals, life is easy… and cruel.