In the final chapter of the Missing in Action trilogy, Chuck Norris returns as the battle-hardened Colonel James Braddock in Braddock: Missing in Action III—a film that dials the action up to full throttle while attempting to tug at emotional heartstrings.
Unlike the previous two films, which focused heavily on POW rescue missions, this installment introduces a more personal motive: Braddock’s mission to rescue his Vietnamese wife and the son he never knew existed. When he discovers that both are still alive in Communist-controlled Vietnam, Braddock defies U.S. orders, gears up with military-grade firepower, and parachutes into danger with the single-minded goal of bringing his family home.
What follows is a relentless barrage of jungle warfare, hostage rescues, explosive fire fights, and a confrontation with a sadistic enemy general. As Braddock’s wife is tragically executed and his son taken captive, the film shifts into revenge mode, culminating in a one-man assault on the enemy compound that’s as bombastic as it is emotionally charged.
From a technical standpoint, Aaron Norris’s direction keeps the pace brisk, ensuring the audience is never far from the next explosion or firefight. The action choreography—while exaggerated—delivers the kind of gritty spectacle that made Cannon Films a cult favorite in the 1980s. The musical score is loud, dramatic, and unapologetically patriotic, reinforcing the film’s one-dimensional yet effective message: Braddock fights for justice, freedom, and family.
Where the film falters is in its emotional depth. Despite the central storyline involving a wife and child, the characters are largely underdeveloped. Chuck Norris, stoic as ever, rarely expresses grief or internal conflict. Emotional scenes are treated with the same urgency as action sequences, often leaving moments of tragedy feeling rushed or superficial.
That said, fans of '80s action cinema may find exactly what they’re looking for here—muscle-bound heroics, righteous vengeance, and good old-fashioned explosions. The film doesn’t strive for nuance, and it doesn’t need to. It exists as a time capsule of Cold War-era bravado, where moral lines are clear and justice is dispensed from the barrel of a machine gun.
