ONE MAN FORCE (1989)

It is a sad fashion that the average slob will feign ignorance while stepping over a body near death splayed across the sidewalk. Similarly, with too brief a glance, the IMDb-empowered casual viewer tends to clod hope over movies like “One Man Force” with a groan, as if they were dehydrated dog shit. The difference between hearing and listening is a level of comprehension. It’s also what separates seeing something from watching something. Most who merely see this film write it off as b-par eighties action crap. Those who actually pay attention to it see past the shape to find a bejeweled hunk of gold that only looks like a turd. This is not by text book definition a good movie. Instead, you have a busy constellation of bizarre details that make up a compelling experience, which can be just as rewarding as a anything the critics will tell you is wonderful.

This movie falls under the Action sub-category of renegade cop, and the bare bones of the setup are painfully cliché. A detective goes on an emotionally charged crusade to avenge the death of his partner, and winds up alienating his superiors, who revoke his badge. It’s been done into the high triple digits at this point. What makes “One Man Force” unique though, is that it’s kind of like an issue of Marvel Comics “What If…?”

When you first get a load of dashing Sam Jones (Flash Gordon) alongside lumbering ex-Raider John Matuszak, the roles seem fairly obvious. In any other movie, Jones would be the most likely candidate to go off the rail when his less charismatic, oafish partner gets whacked. But convention be damned as Jones gets the bullet that typically would wind up in the dopey partner's head. From here, Matuszak becomes the central character and goes into berserker revenge mode. Essentially, the creators of this film have unwittingly gouged the surface of an amazing gimmick.

Most would struggle to place John Matusazk’s name or face, but he's probably best known for playing Chunk’s disfigured sidekick Sloth in "The Goonies." In stature he is a remarkable specimen, but otherwise he’s an unkempt void of charisma trapped in a track suit; kind of like a shittier Lyle Alzado. Matuszak is the kind of guy whom you’d expect to be relegated to the supporting role of silent brute or Bond-ish henchman. But there is a certain genius in casting him as the main protagonist, mainly because no other leading men out there are physically capable of killing someone with a Pepsi machine. He takes being a capable tough guy to an almost surreal level.

At the same time Matuszak’s partner is gunned down by a South American drug cartel, terrorists abduct a rock singer, played by Stacey Q. Both of these situations entwine to create a plot that manages to be both stupid and convoluted. Meanwhile, Ronny Cox continues to be typecast as the dickhead superior officer struggling to keep Matuszak in line. The production is lined with a fantastic cast, including Charles Napier as a crooked cop, the phenomenal Robert Tessier ("The Longest Yard," "The Born Losers") as a hard hitting nemesis, and skull-faced Richard Lynch as the plot’s ultimate puppet master, but most of these names are virtually squandered due to the busy plot.

The editing kicks the pace up to break-neck speed, and I suspect a lot of stuff that would help the movie make more sense probably wound up casualties to time constraints. The order in which some sequences are cut is almost nonsensical at times. The film’s subplot, where Matuszak teaches his dead partner’s son how to defend himself against some neighborhood pot dealers, is violently shoehorned into what is already a tightly coiled mess. It’s completely pointless, but the upside is that it compounds the movie’s enjoyable strangeness. The action sequences are not only genuinely well done, but innovative as well. The brawl in the fetish bar in particular is one of the film’s many high points.

A validating entry in the Academy Entertainment catalog, this is certainly one of the best films they distributed, deserving the appreciation of over-the-top eighties action aficionados. Must see!

Thanks to Action Packed Cinema for the trailer.

A sad footnote, John Matuszak died of heart failure the year this movie was released. An autopsy revealed that he had both painkillers and cocaine in his system at the time of death, and was also suffering from pneumonia.

DRIVING FORCE (1989)

Alright, everyone can relax. They still serve Pabst Blue Ribbon in the post-apocalypse. There, I just saved you 90 minutes of your life that would have been otherwise wasted on this piece of shit. Happy fuckin’ birthday. This is one of the best examples of Academy’s dubious marketing methods. Each element of advertising is like a siren, luring you toward a rocky fate with promises of Sam Jones in Rob Halford gear and clown car demolition derbies. All of these things are lies. The closest Jones gets to leather in this movie is Catherine Bach’s face. Holy crap, does she look bad in this. For those of you struggling with the name, she’s best known for playing Daisy Duke in the original “Dukes of Hazzard” series. She was pretty hot on that show, and it’s not like this was too far along after that, so she must have been on one hell of a bender up to this point. She looks like Leatherface in an Ari Up wig here.

Right out of the gate, this flick commits a cardinal sin which is unforgivable within this particular subgenre, where they don’t really bother to explain just what brought the world to its grim state. Okay, I understand that this is a Filipino production, but they couldn't have strung a loose introduction together with public domain footage that explains the global situation a little better? The most they give us is that unemployment is, like, really high. So the job market is shitty. That’s it.

The initial story is shades of "Dead End Drive-In," where tow truck driver Steve (Jones) finds himself at odds with a pack of feudal wreckers, lead by Nelson (Don Swayze). What really foils the proceedings though are two whack soap opera style plots, revolving around a custody battle between Steve and the parents of a woman with whom he’s had a child. Then there’s a burgeoning romance between he and some chick named Harry (it’s the future, I guess) played by Bach. Swayze's character is even diagnosed with cancer, but it doesn't really have much of an effect on him. He's an asshole in the beginning, and he's still an asshole later on, so I don't know why they went there. In all, it’s pretty much like a super shitty episode of"Dallas" set in Detroit.

This movie manages to avoid being obvious, but that’s actually a bad thing in this case, because anywhere you can go with this story in your own head will pretty much be better than where the story actually ends up. The custody battle just fills time they couldn't afford to stock with shit blowing up. It also goes nowhere. Meanwhile, the bad guys spend an inordinate amount of time repeatedly harassing and threatening Steve. Then Steve contributes to the cycle of boringness by retaliating. After which, the heavies sit around, pissing and moaning about how they "should have killed him the last time." Well then why didn't you? What, did the 37 opportunities prior to this point where he was at your mercy just not "feel" right, asshole? Give me a break!

In the end, what you get is a lame duck drama that fails to commit to themes of revenge because the writer didn’t have the balls to throw in some rape or murder. The tacked on post-apocalypse theme is contemptibly shallow, if not entirely inconsequential. There's nothing worse than a bunch of assholes who decide to make a movie of this nature simply because they think it’s a cheat on putting effort and money into good locations or production design. Billy Blanks is more of a badass because I now know that he managed to have some facsimile of a career after dragging it from the twisted, burning wreckage that is “Driving Force.”

Trailer courtesy of ActionPackedCinema.

WHITE HOT (1989)

Robby Benson proves to be a threat on multiple levels in the thankfully dated “White Hot,” a vaguely moral tale about the bummers of 1980s materialism and casual drug. Benson not only directs and sings several ill-placed songs here, but also stars as the film’s protagonist, Scott, an unemployed yuppie whose finances are crumbling beneath the weight of his girlfriend Vanessa’s (Tawny Kitaen) high-end lifestyle.

When word gets back to king pin Charlie Buick (Danny Aiello) that hot shot pusher Butchie is blaming him for all the weak ass cocaine he’s been peddling, Buick quickly dispatches his reluctant nephew, Angelo, to whack the bum. Butchie hears about the hit and decide to blow town, and strange circumstances lead the dealer to appoint the financially strapped Scott as his stand-in for the next few weeks. Scott reluctantly accepts and contrives a clean excuse to explain his absence from home.

Vanessa eventually finds out what Scott is really up to. She’s initially angry, but when she sees how much Scott is taking in, she falls in line. Eventually, Vanessa becomes a liability when she gets hooked on the crack supply. This leads to Vanessa’s infidelity, as she starts fucking dudes to meet her appetite for narcotics. From there, we follow Scott down a dark path of drug fuelled destruction and ultimate revenge.

This film has an odd saving grace in the form of the Vanessa character, who is so overbearingly realistic that she stomps out Benson’s litany of hilariously awful creative choices. Generally, female characters either fall at one far end of a spectrum, and rarely in between. They are either infuriatingly naïve and pure, or they’re evil right out of a Marvel comic. However, there is nothing remotely comic bookish about Vanessa. She epitomizes the sort of mean craziness I have routinely experience in real life. For instance, she goes on a coke binge and then fucks a bunch of dudes. When Scott finds out, she turns the tables, and pulls a victim card out of thin air like she’s motherfucking David Blaine. Scott is somehow a bastard even though he finds her naked, in his bed, with two dudes, and he deserves to suffer for it. Bold exhibitions of total bat shit female logic such as this provide a mantle of realism which grounds the rest of the story.

Like almost any film of this scale and from this period, appreciation is entirely dependent upon how realistic your expectations are going in to it. As it stands, “White Hot” is an entertaining time waster, but it could have potentially been a very good film. The script is character driven without very minor character development. The parallels between Angelo and Scott, as well as Scott’s metamorphosis from average Joe into hardened criminal are sadly wasted opportunities. The movie also suffers from tonal calamity. Aiello’s nonsensical face off with comedian Judy Tenuta is a glaring example of the damaging variety littered throughout the first part of the film. The unintentional laughs are always worth something, but the performances are fun the payoff is satisfying. This is worth a look for fans of 1980s anti-drug PSAs.

CONCRETE ANGELS (1987)

Well, the photography has some high points, but otherwise this is a blithering piece of shit that aspires to nuzzle amongst the ranks of “The Outsiders” and “The Wanderers.” This is the drabbest coming of age story that’s ever defied viewing. Anne Frank’s bio “The Hiding Place” has more joy-of-life sentiment to it for fuck’s sake. It’s not that there’s anything offensive about this movie, and that’s exactly the problem. What this movie needed was some drugs, a stabbing, some rape, or shit, how about some domestic abuse? The obstacles in this movie are so fey that you cannot respect the characters as they stumble and whine. The story is limp and unhappy, bereft of adolescent anxiety, with an underdose of angst, and a bunch of greaser punks that stand around bitching like unemployed step dads. I wanted sex, violence, and a sense of awe, but by the end of this non-event I just wanted one of these dipshits to put a zip gun to their temple and end it.

Set in 1964, Ontario, Canada, the story revolves around a wop, a mick, a kike, and an anglophile, with ambitions of ducking their ne’er-do-well fate for rock stardom. Beatlemania has reached a fever pitch, and the Fab Four are set to play the Maple Leaf garden in just a few weeks. Local rock station CHUK has announced a battle of the bands contest to determine who will have the honor of opening the monumental occasion. Our story’s central figure is Bello, the son of fresh Italian immigrants, who spends most of his time hanging out at his bisexual black sheep uncle’s pool hall. Just a side note here, if the uncle had raped the Jew drummer kid, this would have been an incredible movie. While Bello and his friends are dedicated to winning the battle of the bands contest, another hoodlum set insists that they’re wasting their time and should join their fencing operation. In the end, Bello and company lose the competition and bitterly gravitate toward their criminal careers. The film’s final note is less than hopeful, and the already unlikable protagonist is left in the dark without any sort of redemption or ambition to make something better of himself. But you can hardly call it a bummer because the film has failed to make you give a shit anyway.

The movie owes a great deal to a production designer who actually achieves the period, but unfortunately the effort is wasted on a meandering script that lacks real events. Nothing really significant happens. Focus on Bello squanders the ethnic differences between he and the other characters, and we are spared only small glimpses into their home lives. The one primary element that’s lacking is a real sense of youthful comradery between the band mates. None of these guys even have a sense of humor. No one gets drunk. No one gets laid. No one has any fucking fun. Nothing really happens. All together, this mess goes in one eye and out the other, tracking depression through your skull like a brat does mud on a rainy day.

FORBIDDEN SUN (1989)

I don’t want to come off like I’m bragging or anything, but for the lot I’ve been dealt I have accomplished some pretty incredible things with my life so far. But after sitting through the first fifteen minutes of “Forbidden Sun” I realized my bucket list has one glaring omission: I have never fucked a teenage gymnast.

This one unfolds like a condensed season of some soap opera, but surprisingly atmospheric location and unique score defibrillate the proceedings. After arriving at an all-girl’s school for gymnasts for her summer semester, American athlete Paula makes fast friends with the other rambunctious students. Ample time is spent introducing the cast of quirky but nubile girls. There’s also a Clue-style lineup of red herrings, any of whom could be the perpetrator who nabs and sexually assaults Paula during a group jog. Circumstantial evidence leads the girls to presume that the rape was committed by a local helping hand, Ulysses. After the cops on Crete pretty much proclaim that Paula was asking for it by being so fucking fine, the girls decide to take vengeance into their own hands in a completely inexplicable fashion.

One of the primary characters in the film is Jane, an emotionally unstable Texas transplant, who’s also carrying on a secret romance with the school’s gym instructor. Jane is also preoccupied with an ancient Cretan ritual known as the bull dance, where a gymnast vaults onto the back of a bull by his horns. The themes of this ridiculous feat are touched upon numerous times throughout the film. Jane herself decides she wants to incorporate a bull into one of her routines and has a brass bull head commissioned for the stunt. So, after Paula gets raped, the girls lure the suspected Ulysses back to their gym on the island, trick him into putting the bull head on, and then knock him around. Exactly how this suits the crime is beyond me, but Ulysses is eventually cleared anyway and the girls turn him loose. When Jane discovers her gym instructor beau is fucking the school’s head mistress, played by Lauren Hutton, she pins the rape and the bull head on him, which by the way, is some Sci-Fi channel bullshit. Given the choice of banging either a muscular, seventeen year-old girl that can do the splits while standing on her head or some gap-toothed mummy, most guys would roll the statutory dice without blinking. Anyway, this all builds toward an incredibly bizarre TV Carnage-worthy ending. It’s like Xanadu on mescaline.

In all, this is competently made with some okay acting from an unbalanced script that makes waste of jail bait. The true identity of the rapist is sadly obvious, though, so it’s a Luke warm waiting game with some unintentional laughs rather than a slow cooker.

TONGS: A CHINATOWN STORY (ACADEMY ENTERTAINMENT - 1986)

A little history lesson before I begin: during the 19th century gold rush and railroad boom, Chinese immigrants who poured into the country in search of better opportunities were pretty much considered the lowest form of ethnicity, and were often bullied by blacks, Mexicans, and whites. As a result, many formed support groups known as Tongs. Even though most Chinese had the intention of returning home to their families after achieving their goals, many decided to stay in America. To this day, Tongs are still a pivotal part of most Asian-American communities.

Imagine a sub-par John Woo drama assembled under the atmosphere of an “ABC After School Special,” and you have “Tongs: A Chinatown Story.” The strange vibe is enough to compel you to watch on toward the end, but it’s simply not enough to absorb the bad brunt of the fundamental story telling problems which surface during its second half.

The first half of the movie focuses on fresh Hong Kong arrival Danny Lee, played by Simon Yam, and his brother Paul, living with their poverty-stricken uncle in Chinatown. Danny’s a clean cut kid focused on the straight and narrow. On the other hand, his drug smuggling brother has no intention of following his Uncle’s blue collar example. Danny enters high school, and it doesn’t take long before he clashes with a local gang known as The Red Eagles. Danny covers for the Eagles in one instance, stashing a knife that’s been used in a stabbing, but he shuns the gang when they attempt to embrace him, which leads to all sorts of tension. Following a violent clash, Danny leads a brutal retaliation against the gang that gets him noticed by Mr. Chen, the Eagles’ benefactor. Instead of having Danny killed, he offers him a cut of his territory, much to the chagrin of the other gang. From here, the story shifts from gang violence in schools to a larger scale crime drama. While the first half is quickly paced, the rest of the story is rushed to the point of vagueness. The final moments of the film have a bizarre, open-ended feel. Unfortunately, the film just isn’t quality enough to warrant the extra hour it would need to tell its story. The fight sequences are alarmingly poor, and every other element of production amounts to balsa wood. Nevertheless, it’s hard not appreciate such a sincere effort, and this trans-Pacific production creates an atmosphere that is downright weird enough to qualify as fascinating. There’s even a midget to augment this movie’s already-strange aura.

Shot on location in New Yok City, “Tongs” was directed by Hong Kong superman Philip Chan, who was known as a pop singer before joining the Royal Hong Kong Police Force in the 70s. As an inspector, he foiled several high profile cases which contributed to his popularity. In 1976, Chan was prompted to write the script for “Jumping Ash,” a film about cops battling a drug ring. After the film proved to be a success, Chan resigned from the force to pursue a career in the film industry. Since then he’s dabbled in a little bit of everything. Most fans of Hong Kong cinema will instantly recognize Chan from his numerous notable film appearances. He’s even crossed over into American entertainment several times over the years, appearing in films such as “Blood Sport,” and “Double Impact.” He even had a reoccurring role on the television show “Dallas.” By the way, none of the guys on the box are in this movie, which sucks because I was really stoked about the fat shirtless guy in the leather jacket.

LAST MAN STANDING (1987)

This is a brutal let down when you consider that it was helmed by the guy who delivered “Food of the Gods 2.” I suspect this film reflects a pang of autobiographical yearning on Damian Lee’s part, as he was at one time a bare knuckle fighter, but this thing is bogged down by ambitions of becoming a sensitive piece of art. Somewhere inside this movie’s morbidly obese husk chokes the heart of a true action film. The subject is somewhat personal to Lee, prompting a more serious treatment of the material than it actually deserves. I’m not calling the guy out on a failed volley into fine cinema. I’m just saying this movie tries too hard to be something it’s not instead of devoting ample time to bone crunching action.

This tangled mess stars Vernon Wells, who’s best know for mainly playing bad guy rolls (most notably Wez from “The Road Warrior”). Here, Wells trades in his head of dick for a heart of gold, portraying the kindly but troubled Roo, a past his prime brawler who’s wasted his better years slugging it out in an illegal fight club known as “the circle.” When friend and manager Casper (William Sanderson) cajoles Roo into retiring before he winds up with a curdled brain, Circle fight promoter Napoleon’s business nose dives. Casper employs Roo down at his boxing gym, and while mopping up spit and scrubbing toilets, a romance develops between him and woefully unattractive Tom girl mechanic, Charlie. Her old man’s got a gambling problem though, and coincidentally owes Napoleon big time. Napoleon promises to forgive his debts though if Roo will step into the Circle one last time to fight his new champion, Cannon.

Ironically, this is a fight drama where the fights themselves actually contain no drama whatsoever. The wins and losses merely exist to move the story along, but the fights themselves are just kind of there. Imagine a porno where they just kind of gloss over the fuck scenes to get to the plot. That’s what you get here.

So, Roo goes down for Cannon like a drunken prom queen, and this is when the story becomes unnecessarily convoluted. Napoleon is also grooming legit prize fighter Razor Jones, who jumps ship for better management opportunities. There’s a rivalry between Razor and Roo that really doesn’t quite work within the context of the film. He’s one of the main antagonists, but he never gets ample time to develop as a character. He just shows up occasionally and acts like Morris Day. Now, throughout the film, Roo has been plagued by a series of laughable flashbacks, which hint at his troubled past. We eventually learn that Roo went through eight years of electroshock therapy after killing some dude in a bar fight. Enter Tenny, a corrupt cop who takes kickbacks from Napoleon in exchange for a blind eye. Tenny is unhappy with how poorly his take has been, so he threatens to throw Roo back in a padded room if he doesn’t come out of retirement. There’s just too much plot at this point, and I’m even leaving some shit out, but eventually all these flaccid points are braided together pathetically and the movie ends.

Now, I’m a forgiving man. I have an absolute adoration for the atrocious. But even atrocities can be completely charming in their own way. Take Vernon Wells for instance. He just awful in this movie, but he’s so terrible that he evokes the same sort of sympathy you feel anytime you see a dead tabby on the side of the road, only funnier. Wells is actually charismatic, so he’s still likable in spite of how bad he is. However, I draw the line at boring. I like to define dull as the ultimate absence of violence and boobs. This noir flop totally qualifies as dull. Dudes rent low budget crap like this because they want to see titties, explosions, and dudes getting their hearts punched through their spines. If they wanted human drama they’d just get married. Thumbs down.

BLIND FEAR (ACADEMY ENTERTAINMENT - 1989)

The Academy Entertainment tradition of late-wave Canadian noir continues in this middle-of-the-road “Home Alone”-esque thriller, starring Shelley Hack (Charlie’s Angels) as a blind woman trapped in an Inn with a trio of armored car thieves. While the premise holds a ton of promise, the author of “Blind Fear” does not seem to understand that it takes more than the sheer goodness of a concept in order for a movie to succeed. The ending is kind of cool, and some of the action beats soundly, but the bulk of the movie is overpoweringly dull filler. After watching Hack stumble around in the dark and knock shit over for a collective forty-five minutes, what eventual good there is doesn’t even matter. You ever bang some really hot chick and she doesn’t think she really has to move or anything simply because she's blessing you by letting you even touch her? Well, “Blind Fear” functions in much the same way. It relies on having a good concept, but never really does anything special with it.

Hack plays Erika Breen, the blind switch board operator of a rustic hotel that’s just been bought out, leaving her displaced and without a job. On the eve of the purchase, Erika finds herself stranded at the Inn when her cousin calls to tell her that he won’t be able to pick her up until the next afternoon. Boozy German ground’s keeper Lasky (Jan Rubes) refuses to leave her alone in the old, forsaken building and insists on keeping her company. Shortly after Lasky orders a pizza, kill-crazy stick-up man Ed and his accomplices crash the party. Erika keeps out of sight, and the invaders, who’ve just knocked over an armored car, decide to hole up the hotel while awaiting their mysterious benefactor, Heinneman (Géza Kovács). So, the pizza finally arrives, and in a plot detail that’s so stupid it might be genius, Ed deduces there must be someone else in the Hotel because half of the pizza does not have any anchovies. After all, “not everyone likes anchovies.” A storm rolls in, and the band of back biting thieves grow more paranoid toward one another during their search for Erika, who uses her familiarity with the property along with her heightened senses to depose of the criminals. The second half of the film also finally manages to evoke some sort of atmosphere, as the first portion is completely bereft of vibe. Eventually, the bad guys are done away with, and we’re treated to a nice plot twist that answers some questions while leaving a few others open.

There are some competent and creative people on board this production, but there are other elements that completely sabotage anything that might remotely resemble quality. The film is primarily confined to the hotel, and the sets look good, but then composer Michael Melvoin drags us back to B-grade reality with a crushingly bad synth score. I cannot begin to list the multitude of B-films from this period that would have come across more impressively if they had either used a more organic score, or no music at all.

There are some decent performances here in spite of the fact that the cast are fed a mediocre script. In particular, the charismatic Kim Coates shines like a proto-Elijah Wood in the role of Ed. Hack, too, is convincing as the bumbling blind Breen. Perhaps the best thing about the movie, though, is the creative use of lighting. However, the fact that Academy recorded this in EP mode reduces what is actually ambient, nuanced light to mere dimness. All of this is compounded by some awkwardly abrupt edits toward the film's last quarter.

And of course, I cannot end this review without touching upon the box. Another great hack job by the artistically impaired marketing goofs at Academy. First off, none of the people on the cover are actually in this movie. The chick on the box is actually way finer than Shelley Hack and about ten years younger to boot. Also, I love that she is wearing tinted glasses, because all blind people wear that shit while tapping the ground with their white cane. And second, the tag line – not exactly accurate: “She’s blind. She’s Beautiful. She thinks she’s alone.” Alright, yeah, she’s blind. I’ll even let you have beautiful. But at no point does she ever think she’s alone. That’s just bullshit. Seriously, it says a lot when the dude who comes up with your taglines hasn’t seen the movie.

GIRLS RIOT (1983)

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SKULL: A NIGHT OF TERROR! (1987)

Well, it starts off with some promise. Right off the bat, a naked Nadia Capone molests her ex-city cop husband Robert whilst he twitches through nightmare memories of accidentally shooting a prostitute in peril. Apparently, the killing turned Bob into a bed wetter, and he's since relocate wife and children to a farm house, far away from the "terrible" thing he's done. Robert’s actually a cold skinned douche, presumably altered after taking another life, though this idea is never properly explored. He’s lost touch with his wife, and in his spare time he’s diddling his blowhard deputy partner’s significant other. Prior to learning all this, we’re introduced to Skull, a supposedly badass serial killer with an eye patch who’s absolutely terrified of the dark.

Conveniently, Robert and his partner have been assigned the task of transporting Skull and two of his cronies after a botched prison escape. En route, they spot a female motorist in distress, and since Robert is a philandering asshole he decides to pull over and get her digits. But this scene is just a clever trap schemed up by Skull’s woman, who frees the prisoner who flee in a hail of gunfire.

Skull and company stumble upon Robert and family’s farm and stake the joint out. The deputies make way back the house and get trounced by the convicts. Robert decides to play possum and builds some makeshift armor ala Ned Kelly. From there, he picks off Skull’s lackeys one-by-one, leading up to an ultimate showdown with the one-eyed ringleader.

All in all, this is a fairly painless 70s-styled action revenge flick, with both good and terrible things about it. The bare bones story itself is solid. Skull, with all his twitchy quirks, is an enjoyable update of the film noir villain. Robert’s ultimate armor-clad revenge is well played out. But one of the main problems here is that Robert is almost as unlikable as the men terrorizing his family. Even after he ultimately redeems himself by saving the day there’s still not much to the guy. The bad things about this movie may very well be better than the good things though. This thing is peppered with plenty of “what the fuck” moments. The dialog in particular is so random and inopportune at times that it’s pretty fucking hilarious. For example, as Robert and his deputy Neil make way back to the farmhouse, Neil laments:

Neil: Why the hell’d you have to go and buy a barn so far out for?

Robert: I wanted to be near the hot springs.

Neil: No hot springs around here.

Robert: I was misinformed.

The villains are tapped from the vein of unintentional hilarity. Sure, they may take turns raping and beating their victims like typical “Death Wish” heavies, but their use of James Cagney vernacular makes them seem less threatening. In particular, Skull’s abuse of the word “copper” nearly reduces him to mere cartoon.

Not great, but it certainly redeems itself when things go to hell. Despite whatever the director’s intentions may have been, this certainly will appease connoisseurs of cornball action flicks.