Following which, the touted update goes and shoots itself through the head. Rather apt, considering the sorry state of this movie, a sequel to a film which patently didn't need one.
What really irritates about Robocop 2 is that the makers obviously didn't understand why the original was so good in the first place. Robocop (7) was a witty, vibrant satire of bad action movies. Robocop 2 is just a bad action movie.
Thin on dialogue, particularly towards the tedious, shoot-out finale, it attracts little interest and possesses none of the energy or spirit of the original. The spoof ads, now a little tasteless ("Warning: continued use will cause skin cancer") seem merely there as an afterthought. And calling a new designer drug "Nuke" is nowhere near as subtle or as funny as the original's family board game, "Nuke em!"
The stop-motion animation the weakest element of the original is used more extensively, while this humourless sequel fails to include a credits sequence, which makes it look even more cheap and hurried. Ah, humourless? You might say. But what about the funny mayor, or the way Robo is reprogrammed to spout platitudes? Yes, these are attempts at light relief, as is Robo tightening himself up with a screwdriver ("we're only human") for the film's punchline, but none are likely to induce laughter. Like the rest of the film, they're staid and moronic attempts at entertainment.
The third and final film in the series (imaginatively titled Robocop 3; 5) saw Peter Weller leave, to be replaced by Robert John Burke, who does well in a undemanding role. With toned-down language and violence, it was an obvious plea to the kiddie market, a Robo action figure much plugged throughout. With it's social conscience too overstated, and Robocop's new-found arm attachments and jetpack getting too silly, the final film was never destined to be a masterpiece. Yet fluid direction by Fred Dekker and a flowing pace make this one enjoyably throwaway viewing.
Robocop, then, is the film proper. Robocop 3 is the sequel which you could watch if there was nothing better on. Which leaves the second movie hanging in the middle, an unwatchable dirge of a picture. A franchise vehicle that has nothing to say, save for the pound signs that rung up. Irvin Kershner is no Paul Verhoven, just as comic artist Frank Miller and partner Walon Green aren't the writers that Edward Neumeier and Michael Miner were. A tragic waste of a good, if limited, concept. 4/10.