Released | Aug 01st, 1994 |
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Running Time | 90 |
Company | George Axmith |
Cast | Roddy McDowell, Peter Jurasik, Sam Phillips, Darlene Vogel, Shane Fraser |
Critical Rating | Not Yet Rated |
Genre | Alternative |
Thank God for trash cinema. Not only is it a breeding ground for hack screenwriters, confused directors, over-the-hill actors on a career nosedive, and climbing-the-ladder actresses willing to jiggle their aspiring assets at the slightest whim — but when all the elements combine, the resultant cocktail is more potent than a rubbing alcohol martini with a gunpowder-packed olive.
While we're saying a prayer for crappola in general we may as well include the Angel series in particular. What a truly trashy concept! Honor Student By Day, Hooker By Night! Only now, after years of saving the fragile youth of America from the sleazy streets of Hollywood, Angel's graduated to the dubious position of police photographer. (Why she only answers to forensic pathologist Peter Juarsik is a detail better left unanswered.) So when one of her former prostitute friends turns up strangled by a guitar string and left in a dumpster like a spent bottle of Yoo-Hoo, it's time for Angel to don her leather 'n lace crime fighting outfit and hit the badass streets once again.
Where there's guitar strings, there's rock music — and all its hoary (pun intended as hell) clichés: rampant payola, testosterone-charged bands, silicone-injected groupies, and weasley executives who won't hesitate to cover up murder just for a sale. (In reality, it's their breath that kills.) Roddy McDowell, who's starting to look like an aging chimp without the mask, turns in a delicious performance as said oily exec.
Acting like the wild-eyed pot fiend in Reefer Madness, Rocker "Piston" Jones (Shane Fraser) finds himself being framed by his bitchy girlfriend Jade for the murder, which she committed. Considering how drug-soaked his brain is, all she has to do is ring the right Pavlovian bell and he starts salivating guilt.
Along snoops Angel, who resembles Piston's dead and much pined-for girlfriend the way King Kong resembles your average 60-foot monkey. Piston throws a rod for Angel and falls like a bag of hammers, but Jade maneuvers herself between the two. This opens up the scenario for the reason d'etre of B flicks — catfighting; unfortunately the female leads' hisses are louder than their bites. The bare skin that does receive exposure mainly belongs to the supporting cast who play band groupies, but lest the lack of frequently placed flesh disappoint, hang on to your couch for one of the finest examples of trash denouement since.... well, since Hard Vice (reviewed elsewhere this issue).
While a stunned Angel lies on the floor of his music video set, Piston decides to hang his depressed ass from the rafters. Leaping to stop him, Jade makes a forty foot miscalculation — right onto Piston's conviniently upraised guitar neck, buying the farm in a clinch similar to Chris Lee in Dracula Has Risen From The Grave. That's one helluva power chord.