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4
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8 |
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10
= Highest Rating |
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An
Al Adamson patch job in the same manner as Horror
of the Blood Monsters, Hell's
Bloody Devils
consists for the most part of footage shot in 1967 for a spy/action/crime
film (that nobody wanted to distribute) heavily padded with
biker scenes lensed nearly three years later. In a bid to make
this thing marketable, director Adamson and producer Sam Sherman
blended together elements of James Bond, Dragnet and
the then-popular biker gang genre. The result is an inept, ham-fisted
mess sorely lacking in the violence and sleaze promised by the
title. Still, there's enough moldy cheese on display to almost
make it worthwhile for exploitation fans... not to mention a
couple of moldy character actors who are always fun to watch
slumming for a check.
FBI agent Mark
Adams (John Gabriel) has spent five years undercover working
his way into a trusted position with the Las Vegas mafia. His
syndicate boss gives him an important assignment, the purchase
of $2 Million in high quality counterfeit bills from a secretive
neo-Nazi group. While arranging the deal he's to make an offer
for the printing plates used to produce the funny money. The
leader of the Nazis, German émigré Count von Delberg (Kent Taylor),
is happy to sell any amount of counterfeit currency but refuses
to part with the plates. He plans to print up enough bogus greenbacks
to finance the birth of a Fourth Reich.
During his stay
at the Count's ranch, Adams makes time with his host's hot blonde
daughter (Erin O'Donnell) and learns that von Delberg's much
younger girlfriend (Vicki Volante) is in fact an undercover
Israeli intelligence operative hunting Nazi war criminals. Meanwhile
Adams' FBI superior (Broderick Crawford) assigns two agents,
a veteran (Scott Brady) and a plucky female greenhorn (Emily
Banks), to watch his back. When Adams makes the buy for the
Mob they're to swoop in with a team of G-Men and bust up the
counterfeiting ring.
So where the
bloody hell, you may ask, are the Hell's Bloody Devils?
The titular motorcycle
gang is paid by von Delberg to intimidate or rub out anyone
the Nazis don't like. Adamson regular Robert Dix —
who looks like an insurance salesman playing dress-up instead
of a rough 'n' tough biker — is
the gang's leader, Cunk. (At first I thought they were calling
him something else...) In a badly edited pre-titles sequence
we see the Devils in a brush with the police, then ambush and
chain-whip a couple of dorky "commies". Later on they beat up
Adams (or rather Gabriel's unconvincing stand-in) and pick up
some hitchhiking hippy chicks, dropping acid and making out
with the girls. Other than that we occasionally see them cruising
down the highway to no apparent purpose or getting their payments
from Volante's character, who acts as courier for the Count.
(Volante is the link between the original 1967 footage and the
biker scenes, her hair styles changing noticeably from sequence
to sequence.) Members of a real-life California biker club,
The Hessians, appear as background extras in a few scenes but
for the most part the entire gang seems to consist of just Cunk
and his two lieutenants... For an outfit called "Hell's Bloody
Devils" they're not particularly hellish, bloody, or
devilish. Just silly. (Where's
William Smith when you need him?)
Naturally the
melding of the aborted '67 project and the biker footage doesn't
work. Then again, it's easy to see why the original film (tentatively
entitled Operation M, then The Fakers) sat on
the shelf for three years. Helmed with the competence of a mediocre-to-poor
TV production, it's a cheap, rambling procession of boring dialog
and lethargic action scenes whose attempts to evoke a James
Bond-like vibe fail utterly. Even without the addition of the
bikers there are too many characters on hand, most of whom don't
do much of anything. As the villainous Nazi mastermind, Kent
Taylor (Brain of Blood) sounds
like he's from Des Moines instead of Düsseldorf — even
though his various henchmen all have (bad) German accents. John
Carradine, looking more leathery than usual (if that's possible),
shows up in a pointless, painfully unfunny comic relief scene
as a pet shop proprietor/secret FBI contact (!). Much more amusing
is the performance of Broderick Crawford (Goliath
and the Dragon) as the hero's FBI boss; his rapid-fire line
delivery and surly attitude would seem to indicate genuine irritation
at having signed to do the picture, as if he wants to get his
one day of work over with as quickly as possible. And in perhaps
the clumsiest, most egregious example of product placement until
the infamous iPod plug in 2004's Blade:
Trinity, Colonel Sanders of Kentucky Fried Chicken fame
shows up to ask, "Isn't that the best chicken you ever ate?"
(In exchange, Adamson was able to feed the cast and crew free
KFC dinners during the shoot.)
The best thing
about Hell's
Bloody Devils is the
music. It's groovy '60s kitsch all the way, backed by the most
frenetic nonstop bongo playing I've heard since the party scenes
in Roger Corman's The Wild Angels.
I really dug the catchy theme song ("The Fakers", featuring
spunky vocals by Debbie Stuart) which plays over the psychedelic,
crudely animated 007-wannabe titles sequence.
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The
fullframe print used for the Media Blasters DVD (released under
the "Guilty Pleasures" sub-label) is, like the film itself, a
compilation of different elements. Parts of it have obviously
seen better days, exhibiting varying degrees of damage, grain,
and faded colors, while other sections are positively pristine.
This is the best this "lost" Adamson flick is ever going to look
on home video, however, so kudos to Media Blasters for making
the effort.
I was quite surprised
by the amount of extras included. The laughably sensationalistic
trailer is a gas ("...The frightening story of the attempted
takeover of the U.S.A. by a mad political group using the meanest
motorcycle riders they can find to rape and pillage their way
into power!"); although it can be played separately it's
also configured as the first chapter of the movie. No less than
three featurettes are offered: a 20-minute interview, videotaped
in late 2004, with Independent International honcho Sam Sherman
and star John Gabriel (in which the gregarious Sherman does 90%
of the talking); a segment culled from a 1993 episode of the horrid
New York-based gabfest The Joe Franklin Show featuring
Al Adamson and his then-girlfriend as guests; and a full-length
audio commentary by Sherman. (As always, Sherman is a treasure
trove of amusing anecdotes.) A still gallery and trailers for
other MB releases complete the package. NOTE: As of this writing
DVD Planet was selling the disc for all of ten bucks; it's a little
more expensive at Amazon ($14) but still a pretty good deal.
6/18/05 |
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