One of the all-time coolest Italian futuristic sci-fi/action gang thrillers made in the 80's when this genre was highly fashionable, a spectacularly ungodly blend of "The Warriors" and "Escape from New York" with a dash of "West Side Story" tossed into the marvelously messed-up mix for good measure.
In 1990 the Bronx has degenerated into a vicious no man's land ruled by various ruthless street gangs known as "riders." The evil and omnipotent Manhatten Corporation rules with the proverbial iron fist. Soulful rich socialite Anne (foxy brunette Stefania Girolami), sole heir to the Corp's CEO dynasty, runs away into the Bronx and falls in with a grungy biker gang, promptly becoming the main squeeze of noble head honcho Trash (pimply, skanky-haired beefcake bodybuilder hunk Mark Gregory). The Manhatten Corporation hire shrewd, bitter, sadistic ex-cop turned nefarious mercenary Hammer (the almighty Vic Morrow in peak snarling, ferocious, big, resentful chip-on-his-shoulder nasty form), a scary stone psycho sporting mirror sunglasses, a furry mustache, a pump shotgun and a seriously screwed-up sociopathic disposition, to venture into the Bronx and retrieve Anne. Hammer abducts Anne, so Trash and company travel through the most dangerous areas of the Big Rotten Apple to seek the assistance of super-smooth big-time gang leader Ogre (a typically suave and self-assured Fred Williamson) in order to get Anne back.
The script by ubiquitous Italian splatter movie scribe Dardano Sachetti, Enzo Castellari and Elisa Livia Briganti doesn't have a single fresh or novel idea to be found inside its empty, idiotic, shamelessly derivative head, but does mine a fine line in incredibly creative and often sidesplitting profanity, first-rate gutter-mouthed dialogue, silly double and triple crosses, and even a few lame-o plot twists. Director Enzo Castellari imbues the junky proceedings with an infectiously heady, baroque, garishly colored and gloriously excessive splashy style, displaying a genuine flair for bizarre flourishes (what's with that dude banging out a crude one-two marital beat on his drum kit?), ably creating and sustaining a suitably bleak, defeatist, pessimistic idealism-doesn't-mean-jack tone ("We were born dead"), and staging the assorted copious shoot outs, fisticuffs and knife fights with excellent rip-snorting stomp-a** bloody'n'balletic aplomb (the mano-a-mano one-on-one physical confrontation between Williamson and hulking behemoth rival gang leader George Eastman in particular smokes something stirring). Shot on nicely grainy'n'gritty film stock for that grimy verite edge, further enhanced by some snazzy agile gliding photography and a wicked-a**, heavy on the wailing guitars, gutty drums and fluttery flutes skull-pounding score, and topped off with a marvelously downbeat bummer conclusion, this funky futuristic blast totally deserves its sterling status as a terrifically tough and sleazy-hearted cult classic.
In 1990 the Bronx has degenerated into a vicious no man's land ruled by various ruthless street gangs known as "riders." The evil and omnipotent Manhatten Corporation rules with the proverbial iron fist. Soulful rich socialite Anne (foxy brunette Stefania Girolami), sole heir to the Corp's CEO dynasty, runs away into the Bronx and falls in with a grungy biker gang, promptly becoming the main squeeze of noble head honcho Trash (pimply, skanky-haired beefcake bodybuilder hunk Mark Gregory). The Manhatten Corporation hire shrewd, bitter, sadistic ex-cop turned nefarious mercenary Hammer (the almighty Vic Morrow in peak snarling, ferocious, big, resentful chip-on-his-shoulder nasty form), a scary stone psycho sporting mirror sunglasses, a furry mustache, a pump shotgun and a seriously screwed-up sociopathic disposition, to venture into the Bronx and retrieve Anne. Hammer abducts Anne, so Trash and company travel through the most dangerous areas of the Big Rotten Apple to seek the assistance of super-smooth big-time gang leader Ogre (a typically suave and self-assured Fred Williamson) in order to get Anne back.
The script by ubiquitous Italian splatter movie scribe Dardano Sachetti, Enzo Castellari and Elisa Livia Briganti doesn't have a single fresh or novel idea to be found inside its empty, idiotic, shamelessly derivative head, but does mine a fine line in incredibly creative and often sidesplitting profanity, first-rate gutter-mouthed dialogue, silly double and triple crosses, and even a few lame-o plot twists. Director Enzo Castellari imbues the junky proceedings with an infectiously heady, baroque, garishly colored and gloriously excessive splashy style, displaying a genuine flair for bizarre flourishes (what's with that dude banging out a crude one-two marital beat on his drum kit?), ably creating and sustaining a suitably bleak, defeatist, pessimistic idealism-doesn't-mean-jack tone ("We were born dead"), and staging the assorted copious shoot outs, fisticuffs and knife fights with excellent rip-snorting stomp-a** bloody'n'balletic aplomb (the mano-a-mano one-on-one physical confrontation between Williamson and hulking behemoth rival gang leader George Eastman in particular smokes something stirring). Shot on nicely grainy'n'gritty film stock for that grimy verite edge, further enhanced by some snazzy agile gliding photography and a wicked-a**, heavy on the wailing guitars, gutty drums and fluttery flutes skull-pounding score, and topped off with a marvelously downbeat bummer conclusion, this funky futuristic blast totally deserves its sterling status as a terrifically tough and sleazy-hearted cult classic.