4 Jun

Foreshadowing is a dead art. Hard Ride To Hell.

Posted by Bryan White | Friday June 4, 2010 | Reviews

I didn’t think it was humanly possible for a movie to piss me off more than Bitch Slap (Review) did. Obviously I hadn’t seen Hard Ride To Hell yet. I really like biker flicks and I especially like those 70’s flavored flicks that invoke those dark age fears of witchcraft and Satan. Put them together and you got your bikers in my satanism, or you got your satanism in my bikers. Either way, the combination is a deviant union of awesome that produced really sweet Satanic bikers flicks like Race With The Devil and Psychomania. But that was then and this is now and my main criticism of Bitch Slap was the forced nostalgia bit. It seemed like no one on the Bitch Slap production crew had ever seen an actual grindy exploitation movie but they’d watched Boondock Saints about a million times. Simply put, I’m fucking sick to death of these exploitation cover bands producing these one-note throwbacks.

I’ll keep this one short because there’s really not much to talk about. Usually I love ragging on a bad movie but I’ve been seeing a lot of this worthless garbage lately and someone has to pay. It is shocking to me that genuinely good independent filmmaking has such a hard time getting distribution. I know a number of filmmakers responsible for original genre movies that are fun to watch and genuinely inventive but time and time again, they struggle in the bowels of small-time boutique distribution, counting on sales at horror conventions and advertising in small rags like Phantom of the Videoscope and Screem while borderline plagiarized dog shit like Hard Ride To Hell skates to global distribution deals. It’s a shame, it’s a sin and it should be punishable by law.

A number of charitable douchebags travel through the remote borderlands of Texas in an RV on the way to a Habitat For Humanity build. They stop late at night to camp and wind up getting drunk. While out to take a piss, one of them witnesses a satanic ritual held by a bunch of hooting demonic bikers. Inevitably, he’s spotted and the chase is on. Sound familiar? Well it should. Eventually, arms are dismembered, glass is walked on with bare feet and a number of deaths occur. But who should help our worthless cast of victims? Why, the weirdo knife salesman that shows up just as they were setting up camp earlier in the movie and the struggle continues. Oh, and I guess one of the girls keeps miscarrying while trying to get pregnant but is capable of conceiving the demon spawn of the evil biker’s leader.

I’ve never taken so much pleasure in watching the main cast of any given horror movie tortured and murdered. I’m hardly a sadist but when the story and acting are this bad, you really want to see your frustrations vented on screen. A mostly white cast is put through the ringer, but the worst of the torture is saved for the douchy black guy from the city who writes for a newspaper, looking to keep it real and write about social issues. He is painted out to be such an asshole and winds up taking the worst heat of the bunch when his arm is cut from his body, the open stump is then stepped on and then burned to cauterize. To boot, none of the cast is likable, everyone sucks and everyone’s a cliche of well trodden horror tropes. We’ve seen these people played a million different times by other people and just in case the characters couldn’t get any worse, their cell phones don’t work. What do you think this is? 1985?

Where the fuck does that even happen? They have fiber optic internet in the fucking Appalachian mountain towns these days. There are cell towers everywhere! Hey, horror movie people! The old phones don’t work trick fucking sucks these days because the phones work everywhere! I could update my Facebook status from the top of Mount Washington for crying out loud!

The addition of Miguel Ferrer, who toplines the posters and package art, does nothing to save this deplorable piece of shit. He’s given nothing to work with and his character’s entire angle is lifted mostly from the Coffin Joe mold. He sleeps through most of his scenes and phones in every line. I’m left with the impression that he was a friend of a friend of the producer and being in this picture meant he was doing someone a favor.

I’m not sorry. I’ve been extremely hard on Hard Ride To Hell, but as a consumer advocate, I feel it’s my duty to inform the public that bad movies without a single merit to their name are being made and among them is a movie called Hard Ride To Hell. It’s my moral duty to expose this kind of garbage for what it is and use my words to discourage any further production like this from being picked up by distributors and sold to the public. You work hard for your movie dollar. Spend it on something worthwhile, not Hard Ride To Hell.

1 Comment 

  1. June 6, 2010 12:15 pm

    textygirl

    This made me look up Hotrods to Hell (same alliterative and rhythmic quality), which was our favorite childhood movie to watch. My brother and I quoted it for years…”Run em off the road Duke, run em off the road.” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yAnWqWXd66M&feature=related.

    Also, totally unrelated, but have you seen Fuller’s “Shock Corridor?” It was mentioned on a blog the other day and it looks hilarious. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-m2RY7ln-wI
    The diagnoses are amazing.


Leave a comment