Entertainingly tasteless throwback to old B-movies that spares no blood or brutality in its darkly comic vision of a violent world. It’s the touching story of a homeless vigilante in a city so violent that it feels post-apocalyptic (think Tromaville crossed with the Detroit of Robocop). It’s ultra-campy and the makers know it. They run with it—and then keep running with it, until they nearly stumble into surrealism. It all adds up to great unapologetic garbage that doesn’t waste any precious time trying to make sense. Further adding to the film’s alien effect is how everything about it is rooted in an eerie early 1980s netherworld, from its washed out look, to its analog special effects, to its synthesizer score.
This Canadian-made madness started life as a fake trailer submitted for Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez’s Grindhouse theatrical presentation. It eventually got expanded into a feature film that, if you ask me, is as good as Tarantino and Rodriguez’s own features made under the umbrella.