The Action/Adventure Section — A regular column that will exclusively highlight and review action movies. The most likely suspects? Action cinema of the 1970s and 1980s. But no era will be spurned. As the column grows, the intent will be to re-capture the whimsy of perusing the aisles of your local video store with only ragingly kick ass cover art to aide you in your quest for sweaty action glory. Here we will celebrate the beefy. This is a safe place where we still believe that one lone hero can save humanity by sheer force of will and generous steroid usage.
Sometimes you don’t know that you need a movie in your life until you’re watching Robert Z’Dar make passionate love to a frizzy haired stripper and something in the back of your skull says, “Yes. This all feels extremely necessary.”
Killing American Style comes so close to being one of those films. If it wasn’t for one little detail, I would be giving it my highest possible recommendation. Which is ‘Watch It’. Unfortunately, there is that one little thing, so I have to drop it down one possible recommendation to a Watch It*
Now, let me be clear here: this is not a good movie. Oh, heavens to Murgatroyd is it not one of those. But as bad movies go, this one is a most impressive feat, indeed.
At heart, this is a home invasion movie, similar to classic noir The Desperate Hours, starring Humphrey Bogart. Or, if you’re willing to go less classy with it (and when am I not?), the 1990 Desperate Hours remake starring Mickey Rourke. Robert Z’Dar, who looks like this:
stars as Tony Stone, a criminal scumbag who, along with his gang (or family, or something), robs a junkyard or a school bus parking lot or whatever. When the heist goes bad, they’re forced to hole up on the ranch of John Morgan (Harold Diamond, Hard Ticket To Hawaii), whose long, greasy hair and terrible, terrible outfits belie his prowess at the martial arts.
Hot on their trail is Lt. Sunset (Jim Brown, Slaughters Big Rip-Off), who tracks Stone and his crew with all the intensity of a guy who just woke up from a very long nap.
And so, with all the players in place, the stage is set. It’s a deadly game of cat-and-mouse, except both the cats and the mice are really, really stupid. Some of them might actually be gerbils.
We should, of course, expect nothing less from an Arvin Shervan joint. Longtime readers will remember that our beloved editor Ed has covered his previous Samurai Cop here and here. (And if you were wondering what sort of site Cinapse is, now you know: it’s a place where we honestly believe Samurai Cop is worthy of two entirely separate articles). Point being, this is a man who has already established himself as being capable of low quality, but high entertainment value.
The acting is bad, the filmmaking is passable at best, the screenplay is embarrassing when it’s not being confusing (seriously, just try and apply basic logic to the family dynamics in Stones’ crew) … none of which matters, on account of all these flaws turn the movie into something hilarious, and past that, it’s never boring.
Which immediately puts it up on a large cross section of the so-called ‘so-bad-it’s-good’ type films (which, for the record, is a designation I do not approve of), where you have to pick through the dull, lifeless bits to find the gems of entertainment that make it worth recommending.
There’s basically no boring bits here.
Every few minutes they throw in a fight scene, a shootout, a chase, or some gratuitous cheesecake to keep the senses engaged. From the start, the movie never lets up, and somehow doesn’t overstay it’s welcome, getting in and out in less than 90 minutes.
Shame about the rape, though.
Which is, obviously, where my inability to give the movie full marks comes in. As a longtime watcher of eighties action schlock, I’m all too aware of the way they’re willing to throw in a rape by the bad guys to strengthen their bad guy cred and squeeze in just a little more T&A.
In the movie, Lynch, the thief whose life motto is clearly “all-denim everything” (and who is played by “John Lynch” which is… troubling) sexually assaults Harolds wife as she takes a bath (which in itself is a weird fucking thing to do when you’re being held hostage).
In fairness, this leads to a vengeful bit of business at the end which, if done by skilled filmmakers, could have been cathartic. But considering the rape scene was shot like an erotic sex scene instead of the violation it actually is, the whole thing just seems gross and tacky, and really does a disservice to the overall product.
So I can’t tell you in good conscience that Killing American Style is a must-see. Your mileage will vary on how much you’re willing to forgive some rather dodgy sexual politics, and you’d be well within your rights to opt out.
But I CAN end this article by posting a shitload of screencaps, so you know what you’re missing:
So there. That’s just a taste of what’s in store for you if you take a chance on Killing American Style. And just so you’re aware, that Tommy Wiseau looking motherfucker in the gold jacket is supposed to be our audience identification figure…
Enjoy, ladies and gentlemen!
