6/3/14: A Boy’s Life

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Afridi, Agha Jaan Anousha Baktiyar, Anousha Vasif Shinwari, Australian-Pakistani films, Baktiyar Ahmed Afridi Agha, Benjamin Gilmour, character dramas, cinema, collaborative film, coming of age, Darra Adam Khel, directorial debut, drama, education, father-son relationships, Fazal Bibi Pite, film reviews, films, foreign films, gun makers, guns, Hayat Khan Shinwari, improvised dialogue, Khaista Mir Hayat Afridi, Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, Movies, Niaz, Niaz Afridi, Niaz Khan Shinwari, non-professional actors, Pakistan, Pashto, Pashtun, Peshawar, rabab music, Sher Alam, Sher Alam Miskeen Ustad Baktiyar, Son of a Lion, Taliban, weapons manufacturers

I have this theory but it’s only a theory, mind you: I think that children around the world, regardless of race, class, ethnicity, or religion, all just really want to be kids. They don’t want to work…they don’t want to carry guns and fight in militias or gangs…they don’t want to be shot at or fear for their lives…they really just want the opportunity to run around, play, laugh and have fun. They want to dance and build forts, make up stupid games and catch bugs. Kids don’t want to grow up too fast: society wants them to grow up fast, in order to become a part of the machine. If it was up to the youth, in my opinion, they’d be just as happy enjoying those preciously short, responsibility-free days for as long as they could, forestalling that eventual slog into the all-too adult world of employment (gainful or not), endless war and continual strife. I could be wrong, of course, but I have a feeling I’m not.

Australian filmmaker Benjamin Gilmour’s extraordinary debut feature, Son of a Lion (2007), examines just what it means to be a child in one of the most severe spots in the world: the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province in Pakistan. Set in the weapons-manufacturing town of Darra Adam Khel and filmed using all non-professional locals, who collaborated with Gilmour on the (mostly) improvised dialogue, Son of a Lion is a bracingly honest, unapologetic look into a way of life that many Westerners only visit through sensationalist new stories and “us vs them” politics. As we see, the location and way of life may be distinctly different from what many Westerners are used to but the underlying emotions and motivations are always the same: around the world, parents want a better life for their children than they had. When this desire for a better life collides with deeply held notions of tradition, faith, duty and familial responsibility,  the potential for drama is endless. Quit frankly, Son of a Lion is mighty impressive filmmaking.

We begin with our protagonist, 11-year-old Niaz Afridi (Niaz Khan Shinwari) and his stern, old-fashioned father, Sher Alam (Sher Alam Miskeen Ustad Baktiyar). Sher Alam is one of the numerous gun makers in the small town of Darra Adam Khel: in truth, the town’s entire industry appears to revolve around weapons and munitions manufacture. Everyone appears to be fully armed, at all times, and the air is thick with the gunfire and cordite, as testing-firing guns into the air appears to be a local pastime. Sher Alam is very proud of his work, a vocation that has been passed down from father to son over several generations. He fought with the muhajaden against the Russians and is a dedicated Muslim. More than anything, Sher Alam wants Niaz to follow in his footsteps. There’s just one issue: Niaz would rather be a kid.

When riding the bus one day (huge, multi-level contraptions that I found endlessly fascinating), Niaz happens to overhear a couple young boys complaining about their homework load. Ironically, Niaz is jealous: he’s one of the only kids in history that actually wants homework. More than anything, though, Niaz wants to go to school: he wants to learn and hang out with other kids. He’s tired of spending the entire day in his father’s shop, making guns, only to spend the rest of the time target practicing with them. He wants to listen to his beloved cassette tape, featuring the rebab music that his father abhors (along with things like TV, movies, books, etc) while enjoying the warm days. Basically, Niaz wants to act like an 11-year-old boy, not the successor to his father’s business.

Niaz isn’t the only one who wants to see him break away from his father and receive an education. Niaz’s friend, the goofy, good-natured, Agha Jaan (Agha Jaan Anousha Baktiyar), tells Niaz that he needs to “get a computer, not a pistol” and says that education is one of the cornerstones of the Islamic faith: “The Prophet said if you need to go as far as China to get knowledge, just go.” Niaz’s uncle, Baktiyar (Baktiyar Ahmed Afridi Agha) also encourages him to get an education, so that he can be like his cousin, Anousha (Anousha Vasif Shinwari). Baktiya and Anousha live in Peshawar, a much more Westernized city, where Niaz gets his first experience with a big-city dentist (not good) and the movies (life-changing). Turns out that you can take the boy out of the city but you can’t take the city out of the boy: upon returning, Niaz is even more intent on going to school, which causes his father to become even more of a stonewall. You see, Niaz’s mother died and Sher Alam will not, under any circumstances, let his only son “disappear”: he’s staying right there to keep the family business going. Throw in a powerful, local man (Hayat Khan Shinwari), his obnoxious bully of a son (Khaista Mir Hayat Afridi) and some terrible rumors about Niaz’s beloved uncle Baktiyar and you have all the ingredients for one powerhouse coming-of-age drama.

One of the most extraordinary and noteworthy things about Son of a Lion (and there are quite a few) is the completely non-judgmental, honest and realistic way in which everything and everyone are presented. This is not a Western film with a hidden agenda: there is no attempt whatsoever to label anyone whatsoever. Instead, Gilmour worked with the locals to ensure that their voices and stories were represented, not his. The people in the film are not “terrorists” or “suicide-bombers”: they are real, flesh-and-blood humans with families, histories, lives, loves and fears. One of the most intriguing parts of the film ends up being the scene where Sher Alam and a bunch of his friends hang out and shoot the shit. The conversation veers everywhere, from local politics to the global stage, and U.S. versus Middle East relations are (obviously) a big topic. Refreshingly enough, the men all express a variety of opinions, with Sher Alam coming off the most hard-line, while the others fall somewhere between bemusement and mild indifference. At one point, someone mentions that the only difference between a “terrorist” and a “patriot” is the support they receive from America. For these men, in this situation, that’s not some kind of value judgment: it’s just the facts of life.

Later on, the village men sit around and discuss Niaz’s “school issue” and the general consensus seems to be that, despite “tradition,” education is a good thing. An educated Pashtun nation can rise up and change the impression that Western countries seem to have of the Muslim world. The times are changing, they agree, and so must their people if they are to survive and flourish. As Sher Alam’s friend, Haji, notes: “We work from dawn to dusk and wake to hear about our terrorist activities…when do we have the time?” It’s all about perception and perspective, something that comes up again and again in the film.

Structurally, Son of a Lion isn’t much different from similar more “Westernized” versions of the same story: you have a feisty, smart kid trying to buck the restrictive traditions of an old-fashioned parent and find his/her own way in the world. As I said earlier, I’m pretty sure that this is a universal, eternal storyline: as long as there are children and parents, this struggle will play itself out. The issue becomes more complex in Son of a Lion because issues of cultural tradition and religion play a large part in events. There’s also, of course, the omnipresent subtext of global conflict: in this part of the world, the next bullet could come, literally, from anywhere. Despite this constant state of conflict, however, the people in Son of a Lion are just trying to live normal lives, the best they can. Although set exclusively in Pakistan, Son of a Lion is probably the single most “universal” film I’ve seen in ages.

Since the film utilizes strictly non-professional locals, there’s the notion that performances could come off as awkward or stagey: in reality, everything comes across as very natural and flowing. If anything, Son of a Lion often resembles a documentary (much of the film was shot using a hidden camera, so that Gilmour, in disguise, could record on the streets of Darra Adam Khel without being identified) with several truly lovely, cinematic moments (the aforementioned bus rides are quite magical, as is Niaz’s first visit to Peshawar. Niaz is a true find, so natural and charismatic that you instantly want more of him, although the entire cast is quite extraordinary. In particular, Sher Alam Miskeen Ustad Baktiyar gives a knockout performance as Niaz’s father, making the character completely multi-dimensional: he’s not set-up as just an opposition figure for Niaz to overcome. Sher Alam genuinely loves Niaz and that love makes certain scenes exceptionally poignant and painful. For a non-professional actor, Sher Alam does some of the most subtle, intuitive acting I’ve ever seen. If this ends up being his only film, it was a helluva way to go in/out.

Ultimately, Son of a Lion is a remarkable film, a piece of art that bears the distinct possibility of being able to bridge the gulf between Western and Muslim culture simply by virtue of pointing out our many similarities, rather than our differences. The film asks many difficult questions and never shies from the answers (in one particularly illuminating moment, it’s revealed that Sher Alam takes immense pride in making his weapons but gives no thought whatsoever to how they will be used…this attitude mirrors a similar one in Hayao Miyazaki’s The Wind Rises (2013) and points out the essential truth that the people actually making the weapons of war aren’t necessarily the ones using them).

Perhaps Son of a Lion is the perfect example of catching lightning in a bottle: a Western filmmaker who wanted to make an honest, non-judgmental film about another culture, in collaboration with these same people. In many ways, it’s the perfect synthesis of two worlds. If you’ve ever had a child…or know a child…or were a child (if your hand still isn’t up, you may have some explaining to do), then Son of a Lion is a must-see. In a world filled with disposable entertainment, Gilmour’s film is that treat that actually has something to say: here’s to hoping that more people listen.

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6/2/14 (Part Two): From the Sublime to the Rocket Launcher

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'80s action films, 1980's, action films, Alex Winter, Assault on Precinct 13, bad cops, Charles Bronson, cinema, crime wave, Death Wish, Death Wish 3, Deborah Raffin, Ed Lauter, film franchise, film reviews, films, Fraker, gang rape, gangs of punks, Gavan O'Herlihy, gun enthusiasts, guns, Jimmy Page, Kirk Taylor, liberals vs conservatives, Mad Max, Marina Sirtis, Martin Balsam, Michael Winner, misogyny, Movies, New York City, over-the-top, Paul Kersey, post-apocalyptic wasteland, revenge, rocket launcher, sequel, sequels, set in the 1980's, the Giggler, The Warriors, Tony Spiridakis, Troma films, vengeance, vigilante, vigilantism

As a youth, many of my favorite films tended to be of the ultra-violent action variety. While I watched a lot of different things, there was a certain group of films that seemed to get rewatched endlessly, as if on a loop: Magnum Force (1973), Pale Rider (1985), The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966), Death Wish 3 (1985), RoboCop (1987) and Die Hard (1988). Most of these could probably be chalked up to the fact that Clint Eastwood and Charles Bronson were two of my parents’ favorite actors, thereby gaining plenty of airtime in our household. As for RoboCop and Die Hard: what 11-year-old boy wouldn’t love those? As time passes, I find that my opinion on most of them still holds up: for one reason or another, these are all fundamentally solid films.

Of the group, Death Wish 3 is one of the ones I watched the most, while younger, but have revisited the least as time goes on. As part of my personal film festival, I decided to finally revisit the film, pairing it with the original (if I had access to the second film and hadn’t just watched the fourth a few months back, this would have been the whole quadrilogy). As seen in my previous entry, I found that the original Death Wish (1974) still holds up some forty years later, retaining lots of subtle power among the flying bullets. How, then, would one of my formerly favorite films hold up? Journey behind the curtain and let’s find out.

As far as genre franchises go, the Death Wish series actually tells a continual story, give or take the rather large lapses in time between the first and third entries (8 years). In the first, we were introduced to the character of Paul Kersey (Charles Bronson), a mild-mannered, pacifistic New York City architect who becomes a vigilante after a gang of punks rape his daughter and kill his wife. The second film continues the storyline as Kersey and his daughter, Carol, move to Los Angeles in order to start a new life. After Carol is once again attacked and ends up killing herself, Paul picks up his revolver and hunts down the creeps responsible. By the end of the film, we see Paul all alone, the last of his family gone: the assumption is that he will continue to hunt the streets, cleaning up the criminal element. Since there ended up being a third (and fourth) film, that assumption would be right on the nose.

After some time has passed, “legendary” vigilante Paul Kersey boards a bus and returns to New York City, the place where it all began. He’s on his way to visit an old war buddy, Charley (Francis Drake), but this isn’t the same New York City from a decade before: this is the ’80s, baby, and shit’s bad…real bad. It seems that roving gangs of punks, similar to the creepazoids from Max Max (1979) or Troma’s Class of Nuke ‘Em High (1986), have taken over the city and Paul gets to his friend’s apartment just after the punks have beaten him nearly to death. Charley dies, the cops burst in and Paul is hauled off to the station house for a little good-natured “interrogation.”

Once there, Paul catches the eye of Lt. Shriker (Ed Lauter), who just happened to be a beat cop when Paul went on his initial “cleaning” spree in NYC. Seems that Shriker is fighting a losing battle against the punks on the street and he needs something that his entire police force can’t provide: he needs the “bad guys” to start dying. Shriker knows that Paul used to handle that particular “job” quite handily and offers him a deal: he can return to the streets, killing as many punks, criminals and ’80s metal-heads as he wants, as long as he keeps Shriker in the loop and throws him a few choice busts every so often. When the alternative is a hefty jail sentence, Paul agrees: time to hit the streets, once again.

As Paul wanders the post-Apocalyptic neighborhood outside Charley’s apartment (seriously: the place is like a cross between The Warriors (1979) and Assault on Precinct 13 (1976) on a bad day), he starts to figure out the hierarchy. Seems that Fraker (Gavan O’Herlihy), the platinum-blonde psycho that Paul briefly encountered in lockup, is the ringleader, ruling everything with an iron fist and really sharp knife. With his gang of goons, including The Giggler (Kirk Taylor), The Cuban (Ricco Ross) and Hermosa (Alex Winter), Fraker has the entire neighborhood terrified and paying protection money in order to stay alive. It’s a bad bunch of dudes…but there’s big trouble coming.

Paul also meets the residents of Charley’s apartment building, including Charley’s best friend and fellow war vet, Bennett (Martin Balsam), Manny and Maria Rodriguez (Joseph Gonzalez, Marina Sirtis), Eli and Erica Kaprov (Leo Kharibian, Hana-Maria Pravda) and Mr. and Mrs. Emil (John Gabriel, Mildred Shay). To complete his merry circle of friends, Paul also becomes romantic with Kathryn Davis (Deborah Raffin), the attractive young public defender that he met at the police station. It would all be so lovely, of course, if Fraker wasn’t so dead-set on running Paul out of the neighborhood, one way or the other. In short order, the place becomes an absolute war-zone and death comes to visit them all: it comes for the punks, of course, because Paul is one helluva shot. It also comes for the innocents, of course, because this wouldn’t be Death Wish without a whole lotta revenge. As the body count rises on both sides of the line, one thing remains clear: Kersey ain’t leaving until he’s either outta ammo…or targets.

Right off the bat, there’s absolutely nothing subtle or subtextual about Death Wish 3 whatsoever: this film is all raging id, rampaging from one extreme to the other. Unlike the basically good but ineffectual cops from the first film, every cop in DW3 comes across as a steroid-addled, trigger-happy goon, particularly the incredibly dastardly Lt. Shriker. Hell, he was technically only one twirled mustache away from a Perils of Pauline-era villain. He bashes Paul around, snarls that he could have him killed at any time and punches him square in the face just because it’s “his” jail.

Whereas the punks from the first film weren’t exactly multi-dimensional (Jeff Goldblum’s sneering mug was about as much character development as we got), the gangs in DW3 are completely over-the-top and cartoonish. Many of them do seem to have been lifted wholesale from The Warriors, right down to the odd matching outfits for certain groups within the gang (Gang subgroups? What nightmare of micro-management is this?!) and by the time we get to the finale, where gang members ride around on motorcycles while hurling grenades willy-nilly, it will be pretty impossible to not expect Mad Max to come zooming over the horizon. Fraker is so evil that he easily surpasses Bond villains, winding up somewhere in the neighborhood devoted to Marvel villains.

In many ways, there’s definitely a consistent through-line from the first film to the third: after all, director Michael Winner was on board for the first three films and the overall message (a good man with a gun trumps a bad man with a gun) is unwavering. Where Death Wish was careful to portray both sides of the issue, even if it obviously only gave credence to one side, DW3 dispenses with this facade completely. Paul isn’t on any kind of journey in DW3: he’s already there. While the first film grappled with the disparity between wanting to defend yourself and taking revenge, there’s no question as to what needs to be done by the time the third film opens. If Death Wish and its first sequel could be seen as drama-suspense hybrids, DW3 is almost entirely an action picture. In the first film, Paul has to deal with both the police (polite society) and the criminals: the police didn’t condone his activities, they just ran him out of the city. In the third film, not only do the police condone Kersey’s vigilantism, they actively push him into it. By the time we get to the finale, where Paul and Shriker run down the street, side by side, merrily gunning down anonymous bad guys (the body count in this thing, for the gangs alone, has to be in the mid-hundreds), DW3 is the furthest thing from the original film it could possibly be. The thought-provoking, gut-quaking violence of the first film has been replaced by a Ren and Stimpy-level of carnage that certainly befits most mid-’80s action sequels but makes it impossible to take anything seriously.

Perhaps the biggest issue with the film, however, and one that continually flew over my head as a kid, is the rampant misogyny. Admittedly, the first and second films were precipitated upon the sexual assault of a young woman but they also featured peripheral female characters: in DW3, every single (good) female character is either assaulted or killed. It’s such an obvious part of the film that it’s hard to believe the filmmakers didn’t intend it but it’s unpleasant, nonetheless. ’80s action films were never known for their progressive gender politics, in the best of situations, but the female characters in DW3 all seem doomed from their introductions. When combined with the over-the-top, testosterone-fueled action sequences, the absolute lack of surviving female characters makes this very much a “boys’ club.” To be honest, it’s probably no wonder that this film appealed to me so much as a kid: this movie was pretty much made for boys in their early teens, rating be damned.

And yet, despite its inherent flaws and ham-fisted politics, there something kind of charming about Death Wish 3. The parts that I remembered loving as a kid (blowing away the purse-snatcher, Paul’s ingenious booby traps, Fraker’s delicious villainy) were just as enjoyable this time around. Sure, the film may be full of holes and uses a disturbing amount of fantasy to glide over the rough patches (the cops are nowhere to be found, while everything is blowing up, until they’re needed for the big finale, at which point they all swoop down, en masse: were they all on break or something?) but it also has a gonzo sense of energy and vitality to it. The film looks pretty great, full of rich, vibrant colors and the soundtrack, by Jimmy Page (yep, that Jimmy Page), is pretty awesome: it’s a keyboard-heavy, funky batch of tunes that perfectly evoke the theme songs to various ’80s cop shows…in the best way possible, mind you).

Unlike Death Wish, which operated in shades of gray, Death Wish 3 is very much a black-and-white film: the bad guys are all absolutely bad, the good guys are all absolutely good. Guns are not only good but absolutely necessary. When the law fails you, take measures into your own hands. There’s no room for dialogue or division here: you’re either standing with Paul, shooting at the creeps, or you’re getting shot at…simple as that. When I want to watch something thought-provoking and visceral, I’ll undoubtedly return to the original. When I want to turn my brain off and root for the white hats, however, there’s no doubt that I’ll be returning to Death Wish 3. After all, any film that features a reverse mohawk, giggling purse-snatcher and death by (close-range) rocket launcher can’t be all bad. It was the ’80s, after all.

2/7/14: One Bad Mother

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'70s films, '70s-era, action films, Alan Weeks, bail bondsmen, blaxploitation films, cinema, Dick MIller, film reviews, films, guns, Isaac Hayes, Jonathan Kaplan, Movies, Nichelle Nichols, Paul Harris, pimps, Scatman Crothers, Shaft, skip tracers, Superfly, Three Tough Guys, Truck Turner, Yaphet Kotto

Slowly but surely, we work our way through the review backlog. This time, we bring you last last Friday’s viewing: Truck Turner.

For a guy who was so instrumental in one of the greatest Blaxploitation films of all time, Isaac Hayes didn’t really have much involvement with the subgenre past that point. He wrote the score for the 1971 action flick (picking up a Grammy, in the process) but would really only return to the fold twice more (three times if you count I’m Gonna Get You Sucka (1988)): he made his acting debut in 1974’s Three Tough Guys and followed that up with Truck Turner the same year, for which he starred and wrote the score.

With his solid build, smooth-as-silk voice and pliable features, Isaac Hayes always seemed like a ready-built movie star: too bad that whole music career thing got in the way, huh? Despite being one of the biggest recording artists of the ’60s and ’70s, Hayes also managed to act in several dozen films and TV shows, including an eight-year on South Park as the iconic Chef: not too shabby for someone who’s also won three Grammys, a Golden Globe and an Oscar.

There’s something about Hayes that always seemed to communicate an unseen wink and nod, even if he was beating the living crap out of someone: he’s such a personable force, such a likable onscreen presence, that you’re liable to forgive him any trespasses. In the dictionary next to “Badass”…well, you get the idea.

In Truck Turner, Hayes portrays the titular hero, a truly badass bail bondsman who’s as fast with a gun as he is with his fists. Just take a look at that glorious poster featuring a shirtless Hayes wielding a gun so large it would make Dirty Harry weep. That’s right, suckers: that’s truth in advertising right there. Truck and his partner Jerry (Alan Weeks) are on the trail of a badass pimp named Gator (Paul Harris). When they waste the scuzz-bucket, Gator’s old lady Dorinda (Nichelle “Uhura” Nichols!!) puts a call out to all the local pimps: if they can take out Truck, she’ll give them half of Gator’s stable of working girls. Only one pimp is bad enough to even try: Harvard Blue, played by non other than Yaphet Kotto. They all hit the streets for a violent whirlwind of sassy backtalk, hard hits, slo-mo kicks, giant guns and lots and lots of sweet outfits (most of the cast are supposed to be pimps, after all). In short: this is blaxploitation heaven, friends and neighbors.

Truck Turner may be a lot of things but “boring” and “square” aren’t two of them. Truth be told, this was a wickedly funny, super-fast and impressively paced film, something that can (almost) sit proudly next to Shaft. The cast and the dialogue are what really push this one to the forefront. Hayes is absolutely perfect as Truck, a seamless combination of bemused-nice-guy and badass-tough-guy who has a particular way with a quip: “If anyone asks you what happened, tell ’em you were hit by a truck: Mac Truck Turner” is one of his better ones but really: Hayes doesn’t get much bad dialogue in this. Alan Weeks is a perfect foil as Jerry: his indignant delivery of “They called my old lady a jive-ass broad!” is easily one of the films highlights but everything about his friendship with Turner is spot-on. The two have a habit of sighing off with a “Get it…got it…good” interplay that always provokes a smile: you really buy these guys as best friends, which adds a lot of pathos to the film.

Kotto is completely over-the-top and absolutely outstanding as Blue: he manages to chew even more scenery than he did in the previous year’s Bond film, Live and Let Die (1973), no easy feat considering he was blown up by a shark pellet in that one. Any scene with Kotto in it is gold and he gets a pretty decent amount of screen-time. His death scene, in particular, seems to last about 45 minutes and is a master-class in mugging for the camera. Scatman Crothers makes an appearance as a retired pimp, complete with pink pants and creme de menthe in hand and Corman regular Dick Miller shows up as head of the bail bond office.

Best of all, however, is Nichols as the vicious, venomous Dorinda. From what I can tell, Truck Turner was Nichols’ only blaxploitation film role (and one of only a handful of non-Star Trek film appearances, to be honest), which is a real shame: Nichols is an absolute hoot and I would have killed to see her do a vintage film with Pam Grier. In fact, Nichols is so good that she almost steals the film from Hayes and Kotto, which is no mean feat. When she snarls, “They better learn to sell pussy in Iceland cuz if I ever see them again, I’m gonna slit their fucking throats!” to Gator’s prostitutes, she manages to be both hilarious and terrifying: Nichols seems completely invested in her performance and sells it 150%.

Excellent cast aside, there’s plenty of other great stuff going on here. The score, while not as iconic as Shaft, is certainly no slouch. In particular, Hayes’ “Truck Turner Theme” is a minor masterpiece, featuring such classic lines as, “There’s some dudes in a bar/With busted heads and broken jaws/What hit ’em?/Truck Turner!” The rest of the score is equally hot, featuring plenty of funky rock, rockin’ congas and rude brass. The humor is exceptionally vulgar (one woman tries to pay the bail-bondsmen with food stamps) but genuinely funny, more often than not. There are certain shots, such as the slo-mo bit where a pink Cadillac collides with a massive cart full of bagels or the (also slo-mo) moment where Truck kicks some dude backwards through a phone-booth that function both as great action bits and decent belly laughs. The film even manages to reference other films of the era (“Grow wings, Superfly” quips Truck, as he holds some poor schlub out of a window)

The prolonged chase sequence where Truck and Jerry are hot on Gator’s heels is a thrilling, prolonged highlight involving multiple car chases, a car-jacking, gunfights, a foot chase, an exploding car and a massive bar brawl. The bar brawl, in particular, is a complete classic and should make any devotee of ’70s action movies blush with pride. In fact, the film is pretty much one non-stop fight/chase scene after another, with only momentary breaks taken for such issues like character development or a little romance (the scene where Truck makes love to his woman while an Isaac Hayes slow-jam plays on the soundtrack is so meta that it becomes hilarious).

Essentially, if you have any affinity for blaxploitation movies whatsoever, Truck Turner will be right up your alley. I mean, c’mon: the movie features a white pimp named Desmond who coordinates his eyepatch to his various pastel-and-rhinestone outfits, Nichelle Nichols swearing like a ship full of sailors, Yaphet Kotto using a sick kid as a human shield and Isaac “Mr. Badass” Hayes kicking some dude through a fucking phone-booth!

If you can’t get behind that, turkey, I just can’t help ya.