The 25 Best '80s Action Movies Ranked

"There is no such thing as an action movie," says Steven E. de Souza, writer of more than one film venerated below, "'Action movie' is a term that was invented in the '80s." He's not wrong. Before the MTV age, action was diversified. Swashbucklers. Westerns. War epics. Crime thrillers. Fists of fury. All the way back to Buster Keaton, audiences thrilled at feats of derring-do, but action was just another tool in filmmakers' boxes.

1982's "First Blood," the cinematic debut of John Rambo, contains only a single kill. "Rambo III," released just six years later, boasts a body count of 132, averaging about one-and-a-half murders per minute. At the time, the "Guinness Book of World Records" deemed it not only the most violent movie ever made, but also the most expensive at $69 million. $16 million of that went to Sylvester Stallone's paycheck, granting him further Guinness bragging rights as the highest-paid actor of all time.

The '80s belonged to action. Pectorals rippling with heavy recoil. Entire neighborhoods disintegrating in pyrotechnic displays. No end too grisly for a one-line eulogy. The decade produced some of the greatest action films ever seen, but the following movies represent the very best of their iconic era.

No discussion of '80s action films would be complete without mentioning Cannon, the studio that Chucks Norris and Charles Bronson built. Schlock was its calling card and lifeblood. Lurid B-pictures made for peanuts and pre-sold into the black on home video rights kept the lights on. Today, its legacy glows in cheap neon with beloved junk like "Death Wish III" and "Enter the Ninja," but between those efforts, Cannon funded projects by renowned filmmakers who were no longer bankable in the blockbuster age.

"Runaway Train," the one-time pet project of Akira Kurosawa, splits the difference as an existential rumination on the same bitter, sometimes nihilistic resilience of the human spirit that also taught "Speed" everything it knows. Jailbirds Jon Voight and Eric Roberts make their escape aboard a locomotive headed across the Alaskan tundra. Almost immediately, the conductor dies, condemning the pair (and eventual trio) to a one-way trip sans brakes.

Russian director Andrei Konchalovsky boils the journey down to its rawest materials. Blistering wind. Severed fingers. Relentless momentum. Life and death. "Runaway Train" is the only action movie on this list — and perhaps cinema as a whole — that not only ends with a quote from "Richard III," but earns it.

Brian De Palma's "The Untouchables" might not feel like an action movie, but its two-hour running time keeps the adrenaline flowing. David Mamet's screenplay takes inspiration from Eliot Ness' autobiography, but like any good Hollywood adaptation, it paints well outside the margins of that book's truths to deliver a rousing tale of corruption, integrity, and tax fraud. It ends with the court case that took down Al Capone (played in the film by Robert De Niro), but getting there involves plenty of shootouts and bloody action.

From a horseback ride along the Canadian border as part of a raid on bootleggers to a later sequence where Capone's right-hand man, Frank Nitti (Billy Drago), kicks off a courthouse shootout that moves to the roof and ends with a mighty (and messy) fall to his death below, the action is beautifully crafted. A key element lifting these scenes beyond the norm is De Palma's suspense-oriented direction.

The best example of this sees Ness (Kevin Costner) and fellow lawman George Stone (Andy García) attempting to intercept a witness at Union Station. Inspired in part by Sergei Eisenstein's "Battleship Potemkin," the set piece is a masterfully crafted exercise in tension, punctuated with explosive violence. Good guys and bad guys exchange gunfire while a baby carriage, accidentally jostled during the shootout, rolls down the station's sprawling steps. De Palma shows off his meticulous nature through slow motion, a montage of perspectives, and precise sound design. 

According to the writer, star, and alleged ghost director himself, the inspiration for "Cobra" was a simple question: "What if Bruce Springsteen had a gun?" Sylvester Stallone's answer is not only incorrect even by the wildest of imaginations, but actually approaches modern art in its wrongness. 

This is '80s Americana reduced to its basest perversions and arranged in a poppy montage. Mirrored aviators. Room-temperature Coors. Chromed-out muscle cars that are unsafe at any speed. Ax-wielding maniacs. European supermodels no wider than a sniper rifle's crosshair. Unexpected robots. Marion "Cobra" Cobretti lives under a giant, neon Pepsi ad and carries a gun with an illustrated grip that can only be seen when holstered like surrogate genitalia.

Every decision can be justified by an even simpler question — "Is it cool?" — and Stallone never misses. Why does Cobretti cut the tip of his pizza off with scissors? Why do three open freezers fog out most of a grocery store? Why does the murderous cult meet solely to clang axes together over their heads?

After the one-two punch of "Rambo: First Blood Part II" and "Rocky IV," Stallone had reached his personal event horizon. What he made with that unimaginable power is absurdist, fascist, and honest to its leather-and-denim soul. But boy is it cool.

We've covered the lack of action franchises with Black leads before, and "Action Jackson" absolutely deserved to become one. The damn thing just cooks with an entertaining mix of action, character, and humorous charm. Key to it all is a charismatic turn from Carl Weathers, who delivers beatdowns and fun quips with abandon. Saying, "I have to catch a cab," and then running and leaping onto the roof of a moving taxi? Ridiculous, yet you believe the guy could do it. The "Rocky" franchise gave him the longest-running character, and "The Mandalorian" introduced him to a brand new audience, but this late '80s gem remains a favorite for us action fans.

It's also a "Die Hard" reunion of sorts, with at least six actors returning, including Al Leong, Robert Davi, and De'voreaux White. Add in performers from "Predator," 'Demolition Man," "Tango & Cash," and "Commando," and watching this film becomes a fun game of action movie bingo. Craig T. Nelson isn't an action regular, but his turn as the white-haired villain is wonderfully mean and entertaining, and leading ladies Vanity and Sharon Stone are no slouches either.

Stuntman-turned-filmmaker Craig R. Baxley ("Dark Angel," "Stone Cold") is the driving force, crafting some memorable set pieces on a small budget. Explosions and fire stunts litter the film, alongside shootouts, chases, and more. It's as smooth and good-looking a 96 minutes as you could hope for.

"Millionaires' Express," the first of six Hong Kong classics to make this list, takes a particularly Eastern approach to the Western. The expected tropes are firmly in place, but the legendary Sammo Hung directs, co-writes, stars, and coordinates stunts for a hugely entertaining tale of the good, the bad, and a career criminal who sabotages a train, forcing its occupants to spend time and money in his dusty little town. Unbeknownst to him, there are deadly criminals on board, more riding in on horseback, and three Japanese samurai with a secret of their own.

The film is a terrific action comedy that sees Hung and his cast juggling numerous story threads and characters in pursuit of laughs and thrills. Hung gives a sizable role to his longtime friend Yuen Biao, a stellar fighter and an even more impressive acrobat, and the pair have a fantastic fight before joining forces against the film's real baddies. Cynthia Rothrock and Richard Norton are on tap as two of the lead bandits, with Hung and Rothrock also delivering a solid scrap.

We get plenty of fights, both big and small, but Hung also spices things up with some impressive stunts, including shenanigans on a moving train and an epic flip off a two-story roof by Yuen. It's all in one take as Yuen jumps, flips, lands on his feet, and walks away. Wild stuff.

The road to "In the Line of Duty IV" is convoluted. The franchise starts with "Yes, Madam!" and "Royal Warriors," both starring Michelle Yeoh but as different characters, and they're followed by up to seven more tenuously related films, usually featuring Cynthia Khan in the lead. The details are unimportant, as all that matters is these first few films deliver some blistering fights and stunt work. Any of them could have taken this spot, but "In the Line of Duty IV" stands tallest and hits hardest.

Khan and the great Donnie Yen star as cops in Seattle, working a drug ring case. When they end up with a witness in need of protection, their efforts take them to Hong Kong. Director and famed action choreographer Yuen Woo-ping fills the film to bursting with fights, chases, and stunts, and his beautifully crafted set pieces are in good hands with Khan, Yen, Yuen Yat-chor, and Michael Woods.

Yen unleashes some truly stunning beats, highlighted by two face-offs against Woods (the pair reunited for great rematches in "Tiger Cage II" and "Crystal Hunt"), a tiring amount of high kicks, and a motorcycle chase. Not to be outdone, Khan also lets loose with fists and feet and fights atop a moving ambulance. This one is Hong Kong action nirvana.

The legendary Three Dragons — Jackie Chan, Sammo Hung, and Yuen Biao — are responsible for some of the greatest action films ever made, together and apart. Of the trio, compatriots since their days at the Peking Opera School, Biao remains the most obscure to western audiences. That's a tragedy, especially considering that he's the best mover of the bunch.

In "Righting Wrongs," Biao puts that agility to brutal use as a lawyer who moonlights as judge, jury, and executioner. Anyone expecting prop comedy and pratfalls is in for a rude awakening — the wrongs here are very wrong. The villains incinerate children because their parents saw something they shouldn't have. The heroes kill with extreme prejudice and unflinching cruelty. They're all free radicals condemned to the same terminally corrupt system. In the complete absence of justice, blood makes do.

The simplest confrontations escalate at blinding, occasionally nightmarish speeds. An attempted hit-and-run in a parking garage turns into a lop-sided demolition derby with Biao at one point dropping between the fenders of two crashing cars. A routine arrest by eventual ally Cynthia Rothrock, among the most unsung of '80s action heroes, climaxes with a 30-foot diving tackle off a balcony. The final showdown defies all expectations of bodily capability and happily-ever-after. Seek only the original Hong Kong cut — the rest pull the fiercest, final punch.

Some will scoff at the inclusion of William Friedkin's tale of criminal obsession on a list celebrating action, and that's a fair point if you're valuing quantity over quality. Take the opposite tack, and you'll see this stylish and sweaty gem for the propulsive masterpiece that it is.

William Petersen's Agent Chance is intensity personified, and it's not just because he loves to bungee jump off suspension bridges. He's quick to fight, fast on the draw, and a foot chase through the airport shows him to be a movie runner nearly on par with Tom Cruise. Chance is a force to be reckoned with, but the film's unafraid to show us that he's every bit as human as everyone else, as a sudden and unexpected act of violence shatters the screen.

The film's highlight is a car chase that ranks among the best in film history. Chance and his partner are pursued by armed baddies through alleys and bustling streets. Faced with an impossible choice, the reckless but determined agent guns his car onto the freeway — against the oncoming traffic. It's a nail-biting ride as cars swerve, crash, and narrowly avoid major collisions. Friedkin's biggest film may be "The Exorcist," but between this and "The French Connection," he's proven himself a master of car chase cinema.

While the vast majority of Jackie Chan's films heading into the early '80s were period pieces, "Project A" sets its sights on a (relatively) more recent time, with its focus on pirate attacks in the late 19th century. Chan plays a member of Hong Kong's Coast Guard, who's eventually transferred into the local police force to combat the dual evils of piracy and corruption. He succeeds, obviously, but how could he not with Sammo Hung and Yuen Biao by his side?

Chan, who also directed and co-wrote the film, kicks things off with an elaborate bar fight. While "Road House" celebrates the messy brawl, here we get elaborately choreographed mayhem designed to look sloppy, with the result being a gloriously constructed set piece. The action is fast, frequently stunning, and crafted with multiple comedic beats that flow along with the fight.

The film only escalates from there, with thrilling chases on foot and bicycle, both blending physical entertainment with near-slapstick hilarity. Hung and Yuen get in plenty of licks along the way, another beautifully constructed fight unfolds around dual winding staircases, and the big finale sees our heroes going head to head with the always reliable Dick Wei as the lead pirate. Add in an epic stunt involving a fall from a clock tower that echoes Harold Lloyd's "Safety Last," and you have one of Chan's best movies.

"It's the granddaddy of action films as we know them today," says director Mark Lester, "and Arnold was the reason it got made." Any confusion over its inspiration is cleared up before the opening credits — Mr. Universe walks out of the woods with an entire tree perched on one shoulder. He's not Rambo. He's not Conan. He's Paul Bunyan resurrected for the Reagan age, his axe traded in for a belt-fed M60 machine gun and his name rechristened by the Commodore 64 — John Matrix.

Its purity transcends all cultural barriers. "You don't need to read the subtitles to know it was a bad idea to kidnap Arnold Schwarzenegger's little girl," says screenwriter Steven E. de Souza. The kidnappers awaken a force as simple and inevitable as death itself. Mall security. Air traffic control. Physics. Nothing can stop John Matrix, an ontological truth only former squad mate Vernon Wells, an eleventh-hour replacement worth his weight in weirdo gold, understands. He will jump from planes that are taking off, roll down mountains in Chevy Blazers with their brakes cut, and gun down hundreds of foreign soldiers somehow stationed on an island off the California coast in order to get Alyssa Milano back.

And he does, all to the percussive beat of James Horner's steel drums. Not a second or shell casing is wasted. Any given line could be sold on a t-shirt. The obligatory pop song at the end describes Arnold's daughter as "a mountain that dreams are made of." This is the ultimate '80s action movie, a rocket-propelled time capsule that still blows up with the best of them.

For the first and last time in history, Steven Spielberg was in trouble. Between "Jaws" and "Close Encounters of the Third Kind," he'd earned a reputation for running over schedule and budget. Studios didn't mind until "1941," a similarly extravagant production that only grossed a third of his earlier blockbusters. Even with a story and oversight from "Star Wars" creator George Lucas, Spielberg could barely get hired. His next project had to count.

"Raiders of the Lost Ark" cost about half of "1941" and came in 12 days ahead of schedule. It also happens to be the greatest adventure film ever made. In their nostalgic distillation of the pulpy '30s adventures that inspired them, Spielberg and company managed to usurp the very definition in pop culture; when anybody talks about "adventure serials" now, they really mean Indiana Jones.

The boulder. The truck. The swordsman. The flying wing. The action in "Raiders" is nothing short of iconic. Every set piece doubles as a self-contained silent film, just as effective when left to John Williams' orchestral lonesome. Harrison Ford's natural gift for frustration pays dividends with each punch. Lucas and Spielberg set out to make "something better than Bond." Against all odds, they did.

"Police Story" is the product of a man possessed. Jackie Chan was running out of time and patience. Both of his attempts to woo audiences in the United States, 1980's "The Big Brawl" and 1985's "The Protector," failed. His frustrations with American directors are best summarized with a single grievance, aired when the latest potential stunt was dumbed down for coverage: "No one's going to pay money to watch Jackie Chan taking a stroll." If Chan wanted a true showcase for his abilities, he'd have to build his own and throw himself through it repeatedly.

The story is a cops and robbers tale pitting the determined Sergeant Ka-Kui versus omnipotent crime lord Chu Tao. The plot is an excuse; Chan and co-writer Edward Tang reverse-engineered it from a list of props and playgrounds. By the director-star's estimation, the film cost a little less than $2 million American dollars, a quarter of the budget of that same year's "Police Academy II: Their First Assignment." Chan made up the difference in blood.

"Policy Story" opens with Ka-Kui leveling a shantytown in a compact car, and only gathers speed from there. Any given set piece, any given shot, would earn far lesser works a prime seat in the action movie pantheon. The sum total, furiously alive with a breath Chan never lets himself catch, approaches the sublime.