...what? WHAT IS THIS? I was completely engrossed by how amazing this movie was. Amazingly terribad. Like the other reviews say, if you are looking for a comedy then look no further, this is beyond bad in every way imaginable. Much has been written about Rob Van Dam's wooden acting but give him some credit, every single person involved in this film could have been recruited from the crowd at a UFC or Nascar event.
The plot is hilarious, the entire thing is set up within what feels like seconds of the start of the film: 'oh hi you're our new neighbours don't even unpack just come to this club with us, oh no within minutes you have accidentally killed the generic crime lord's brother, a 19 year old played by a 40 year old who later confusingly turns out to be the crime lord's son after all'. There's a fence sitting 'corrupt cop' who is twice greeted by the same piece of dialogue; either someone didn't read the script or they thought it was particularly meaningful (it was not). The neighbour character is set up as a cowardly, sycophantic wine dealer (yes really) whose wife is clearly knocking boots with the antagonist, something which is never elaborated on as both characters are written out of the film two thirds of the way through. It would be nice to think whoever casted this giant turd was trying to defy the Hollywood convention of beauty over substance by choosing a gristly middle aged woman to play RVD's wife, but by the end of the film you can literally smell the regret at casting Lara Grice (presumably a budget-saving measure), and she is gleefully replaced as the love interest by RVD's on screen daughter who is much easier on the eye and the worst actor out of the lot. It can only be assumed that as the credits roll they are in the dumpster where he hid her earlier feverishly making incestuous love; I'm not even sure he bothered to untie his piggish wife before he left the house.
Throughout the film Van Dam is either driving or hobbling around the city at night when gangs of camp, 80's style street hoodlums appear swinging chains, chewing gum, wearing leather vests and headbands, carrying boomboxes, driving motorbikes and standing in front of flaming oil drums. You often expect them to challenge him to a dance off. What happens next on these occasions must rank amongst the most poorly choreographed screen violence ever committed to celluloid. It's not even choreographed. No more than one punch, kick, gunshot, knife swing, throw, cuddle or obligatory pro-wrestling armbar is stringed together at a time. Rob Van Dam moves like a wheel chair ridden, diabetic man who weighs half a ton. He throws an unconvincing elbow in his glittery t-shirt and we cut sloppily to an unconvincing tackle, then an unconvincing punch. In fact, not only the fight scenes suffer from this seemingly random editing. The entire picture gives off the impression that they only took 15 minutes of footage and spent six months trying to fill in the blanks with extras and recuts.
The acting is woeful; it is almost as if they decided professional wrestlers have enough acting experience to improvise the dialogue at times. The script couldn't even manage to be good enough to be generic; it's full of holes, inconsistencies, pointless deviations, dud characters and dialogue so unrelatable it could have been written by an autistic dog. The production is shoddier than almost anything I've ever seen; there are youtube videos directed better than this stinker, there are twelve year olds with a mobile phone camera and a movie editing package who display more technical proficiency and vision than David DeFalco.
This is literally one of the worst things I've ever seen. There is a scene where two wrestlers are 'grappling' with their awful dialogue over a table, and there is a woman sat there with her tits hanging out of her bra. Why are they out? Why doesn't she put them away? Why wouldn't she just take her bra off? Why didn't I turn this movie off? Just like her chest, this film was a car crash I couldn't keep my eyes off.
The plot is hilarious, the entire thing is set up within what feels like seconds of the start of the film: 'oh hi you're our new neighbours don't even unpack just come to this club with us, oh no within minutes you have accidentally killed the generic crime lord's brother, a 19 year old played by a 40 year old who later confusingly turns out to be the crime lord's son after all'. There's a fence sitting 'corrupt cop' who is twice greeted by the same piece of dialogue; either someone didn't read the script or they thought it was particularly meaningful (it was not). The neighbour character is set up as a cowardly, sycophantic wine dealer (yes really) whose wife is clearly knocking boots with the antagonist, something which is never elaborated on as both characters are written out of the film two thirds of the way through. It would be nice to think whoever casted this giant turd was trying to defy the Hollywood convention of beauty over substance by choosing a gristly middle aged woman to play RVD's wife, but by the end of the film you can literally smell the regret at casting Lara Grice (presumably a budget-saving measure), and she is gleefully replaced as the love interest by RVD's on screen daughter who is much easier on the eye and the worst actor out of the lot. It can only be assumed that as the credits roll they are in the dumpster where he hid her earlier feverishly making incestuous love; I'm not even sure he bothered to untie his piggish wife before he left the house.
Throughout the film Van Dam is either driving or hobbling around the city at night when gangs of camp, 80's style street hoodlums appear swinging chains, chewing gum, wearing leather vests and headbands, carrying boomboxes, driving motorbikes and standing in front of flaming oil drums. You often expect them to challenge him to a dance off. What happens next on these occasions must rank amongst the most poorly choreographed screen violence ever committed to celluloid. It's not even choreographed. No more than one punch, kick, gunshot, knife swing, throw, cuddle or obligatory pro-wrestling armbar is stringed together at a time. Rob Van Dam moves like a wheel chair ridden, diabetic man who weighs half a ton. He throws an unconvincing elbow in his glittery t-shirt and we cut sloppily to an unconvincing tackle, then an unconvincing punch. In fact, not only the fight scenes suffer from this seemingly random editing. The entire picture gives off the impression that they only took 15 minutes of footage and spent six months trying to fill in the blanks with extras and recuts.
The acting is woeful; it is almost as if they decided professional wrestlers have enough acting experience to improvise the dialogue at times. The script couldn't even manage to be good enough to be generic; it's full of holes, inconsistencies, pointless deviations, dud characters and dialogue so unrelatable it could have been written by an autistic dog. The production is shoddier than almost anything I've ever seen; there are youtube videos directed better than this stinker, there are twelve year olds with a mobile phone camera and a movie editing package who display more technical proficiency and vision than David DeFalco.
This is literally one of the worst things I've ever seen. There is a scene where two wrestlers are 'grappling' with their awful dialogue over a table, and there is a woman sat there with her tits hanging out of her bra. Why are they out? Why doesn't she put them away? Why wouldn't she just take her bra off? Why didn't I turn this movie off? Just like her chest, this film was a car crash I couldn't keep my eyes off.