I met director Steve Carver when he came to town to shoot "Lone Wolf McQuade," and I'm something of a fan, but even with screenwriter Bill Norton aboard, this lacks the wit and cool characters that enliven his Chuck Norris movies or even "Steel." Dialog is particularly lacking, in some scenes even leaving Tom Skerritt with nothing to do but mutter incoherently, or a game Shatner mugging as if he's about to say something but either gets cut off or thinks better of it. The two actors do their best, Skerritt all steely-eyed intensity and Shatner oozing lily-livered Southern charm, as do Royal Dano as a flustered preacher and a shockingly young-looking Noble Willingham as a lecherous bootlegging "uncle." As for the actresses, they certainly deliver the goods, and frequently, especially Angie Dickinson. Yowzah. If you're worried, Angie gets progressively more naked as the plot moves along. Look close for a young and quickly unadorned Sally Kirkland.
Plotwise? Angie, rural 1932-vintage single mom, saddled with two unmanageable daughters (one way too naive and one way too not so), after extricating one daughter from a hasty wedding, dips her toe into crime (bootlegging and DAV-smoker-jacking), then gets mired in it after hooking up with bank robber Skerritt. An encounter with down-and-out Southern gent Shatner seals their fate, as he proves to be their little gang's weakest link. Along the way, much blood, clothing and inhibitions will be shed.
Considering the budget and shooting time, the action is boisterous enough but haphazard and disjointed, with a lot of repetitive car chases featuring Dick Miller and a sidekick (representing the entirety of the FBI) in hot pursuit, miraculously always one step behind our anti-heroine and her mob. One shudders to see how many vintage autos run up dirt ramps and flip over. Even if you know that the Hollywood hills don't actually look a lot like East Texas (the geography of where our characters are supposed to be at any moment in the plot isn't always made abundantly clear), the small-town locations and antique cars do an impressive job of keeping the movie in its Depression-era period.
Look quickly for second-unit director Paul Bartel as a party guest, following in the footsteps of Francis Coppola in "The Young Racers."
Plotwise? Angie, rural 1932-vintage single mom, saddled with two unmanageable daughters (one way too naive and one way too not so), after extricating one daughter from a hasty wedding, dips her toe into crime (bootlegging and DAV-smoker-jacking), then gets mired in it after hooking up with bank robber Skerritt. An encounter with down-and-out Southern gent Shatner seals their fate, as he proves to be their little gang's weakest link. Along the way, much blood, clothing and inhibitions will be shed.
Considering the budget and shooting time, the action is boisterous enough but haphazard and disjointed, with a lot of repetitive car chases featuring Dick Miller and a sidekick (representing the entirety of the FBI) in hot pursuit, miraculously always one step behind our anti-heroine and her mob. One shudders to see how many vintage autos run up dirt ramps and flip over. Even if you know that the Hollywood hills don't actually look a lot like East Texas (the geography of where our characters are supposed to be at any moment in the plot isn't always made abundantly clear), the small-town locations and antique cars do an impressive job of keeping the movie in its Depression-era period.
Look quickly for second-unit director Paul Bartel as a party guest, following in the footsteps of Francis Coppola in "The Young Racers."