Point Blank (98, Matt Earl Beesley)

If you are (or ever were) a fan of direct to video efforts by no name filmmakers, you really owe it to yourself to see Point Blank. By Point Black, I don't refer to the sublime '67 John Boorman movie. Heck, I'm not even talking about a remake of that film. Instead, I'm talking about the Matt Earl Beesley spin on Die Hard. In the past, the "Die Hard in a _____" genre had maintained some level of interest due to the novelty of different locales (for example, the use of submarines in Under Siege). Here, we have Die Hard in a, get this, shopping mall! Luckily, the director attempts to make no Romeroesque social commentary but keeps his eye closely on the late-80's sleaze classics in order to deliver one of the most entertaining films ever. First and foremost, those who dug Mickey Rourke's recent mainstream performances in flicks like Sin City or Domino should really see him here. With several pounds of anabolic steroids apparently injected along with a healthy helping of botox into his face, Rourke stumbles around, playing a white trash ex-spy of some sort who has to go take down the gang that's led by his brother. Despite appearing to stand 6'0'' with about 300 pounds of narcotic-enhanced muscle on his bod, Rourke's character is somehow able to do jumping spin kicks that would make Jean Claude Van Damme bite his lip in jealousy (given the 1998 release date, it's probable that Van Damme was indeed Rourke's double here, given a pay check of early 90's leftover Jack in the Box hamburgers and several brown bagged bottles of King Cobra to wash it down -- I suspect Rourke was able to negotiate for an additional Snickers bar at the end of production). Danny Trejo puts in a career-defining performance as ultra sleaze bag villain. Naturally, after threats of rape, he's somehow convinced a stripper girl to take a liking to him. Producers must have known he was a star after his first scene of action in which he hits an innocent female bystander with the butt of his gun. Hilarious outlaw characters continually blubber about their unfair lot in life, most entertainingly when Michael Wright relates the story of how he killed his wife after catching her in bed. Of course, these scenes wouldn't be complete without mentioning the film's greatest asset, its soundtrack. Blues riffs and neverending guitar solos accompany EVERY scene. The fight scene between Rourke and Trejo is especially enhanced by a sentimental yet bouncy light rock number that seems like it would have better functioned in a Lifetime TV movie love scene. Despite these and other Z-grade production values, the film's saved by its unrelenting willingness to take down hostages and other such characters, Trejo's gunbutting to the face only a preview of the atrocities that lie within. Action scenes are actually fairly competent with a great opening involving a prison bus full of prisoners getting gunned down. The hand-to-hand stuff doesn't fare as well due to the hilarity of Rourke's lumbering intercut with his stunt double doing some great late 80's style martial arts moves. All in all though, I have to recommend the film based on its unflinchingly terrible writing and consistently inept filmmaking. These things, combined with the filmmaker's surprising apathy toward innocent characters, makes for perhaps the ultimate beer with friends feature. In this context, I can't recommend it enough. **** out've *****