Primo Al Adamson trash-o-rama. It’s got burly bikers who bust skulls and enjoy free love out on the open road. It’s got beach-tanned FBI men who chase women and smoke cigars while they read Playboy magazine in their swinging bachelor pad. It’s got sexy lady agents, several exploding cars, 122 corny jokes and an ancient John Carradine in a bit part as a pet store owner.
The big question about this movie that people who aren’t drunk and are still misguidedly trying to make sense of it always ask: Is this a biker movie or is it an espionage thing? Nobody knows for sure. Even the characters in this tale of undercover G-men (and women) vs. neo-Nazi counterfeiters seem confused about what the hell the motorcycle gang is doing here. The only people not confused were the owners of drive-in theaters, where biker flicks were big business in 1970. The shoehorn job was fine with them. Meanwhile, creeps like myself mostly stare at the gorgeous women in the cast. Adamson may not know how to tell a story, but he knows how to keep us watching. Or at the very least keep us hoping that the cute blonde will get naked again.
Maybe the most ridiculous moment here: the scene when our hero takes a woman on a romantic lunch date to… Kentucky Fried Chicken! Logos prominently displayed and in focus. There’s even an awkward cameo by Harland Sanders himself (yes, Colonel Sanders was a real person and was 80 years old in 1970) in the middle of chit-chat about the great tasting drumsticks. Product placement, ahoy. Michael Bay would say it’s a little on the crass side.
If you like this movie though, by all means, don’t hesitate to express a little thanks to the Colonel (R.I.P.) for helping to finance it. Go to KFC today, stroll up to the counter and tell ’em Hell’s Bloody Devils sent ya.