The two most sensitive contract killers you’ve ever seen in a movie blow away dirtbags, make messy bloodbaths and then whine to each other about the women they lost. Yep, before Quentin Tarantino started to humanize hitmen, this little B-movie from the industry underbelly did it earlier and did it all wrong. If either of the two main characters here started to talk my ear off about their problems, I’d want him to shoot me instead. Dork #1 is this high-strung guy named Dino. He’s a protein shake-gulping health nut and tortured painter whose girl took off after an argument about their unborn baby. Dork #2 is Ziggy. He’s an oily wiseguy-type whose lady got kidnapped by street thugs. Both constantly keep an eye open on the mean streets of LA for any sign of their lost loves.
The saving grace of this mess is how the clumsy filmmaking, a vintage 80s low-budget straight-to-video attempt at slickness, is weirdly absorbing. How many filler scenes of the characters shaving or reading or arguing about stuff that they already argued about five times already can they cram into this ninety-minute wonder? I was glued to the screen to find out! Another thing the people in this movie do a lot: drive around the city at all hours, which gives writer/director Joseph Merhi lots of excuses to show off seedy Los Angeles, where porn theaters, strip clubs and cheap food stands light up the night. I got hooked into that, too.
This movie is terrible, but I enjoyed it.