Oh, what a bad, bad, very bad movie! Cowritten by and starring Sylvester Stallone—that should have been enough—and featuring too many rock-climbing scenes, vertigo, falling, and scene-chewing villains and a botched airborne heist. There are two plots, both lame. One involves a traumatic failed rescue, and the other involves bad people wrecking an airplane for booty, and killing various harmless people whenever possible. The usually reliable John Lithgow, perhaps depressed by the sheer awfulness of the product, is reduced to sneering and calling those for whom he doesn't care "Bostid!" in a vague approximation of an English accent. Janine Turner, who was sprightly and enigmatic when she played Maggie on Northern Exposure, is sadly wasted in the part of a rescue climber and pilot. Stallone is stolid and muscle-headed. No deathless lines in this one. No living lines, either.