Film - Bounty Killer

Add another one to the body count as steve harris kills any hope of anyone else ever admitting to watching Bounty Killer ...

So a Hollywood movie executive says to some other Hollywood movie executives,

"Hey, you know they're rebooting Mad Max next year and the rushes so far look fucking awesome?"

And the others say,

"Yes, but what of it?"

And he continues,

"Let's make a really fucking shit version of the same sort of post-apocalyptic, car and kill crazy world with bad actors, stupidly Peckinpah blood splatters and no meaningful plot."

And the other executives say,

"Can we give Gary Busey in a minor role and some guy who looks like a sober Seasick Steve as a mechanic?"

And the first one says,

"Yeah OK but let's not have anyone in lead roles whom audiences give a goddamn fuck about."

Thus was Bounty Killer commissioned. It stinks. It stinks of big-titty lead women who can't read an autocue. It stinks of tiny-dick lead men who can't read. It stinks of a scriptwriting team who were presumably all in remedial class at whichever school for talentless pricks they all attended. Not even the blooper reel over the end credits is any good. I want everyone involve to grow wasps in their genitals and be in huge amounts of pain.

So my conscience says to me,

"steve, you're being really harsh about this movie. Can't you find anything positive to say about it?"

And I think a bit then I reply,

"The cinematography looks great."

And my conscience says,

"That's it? It looked good in terms of the way it was mechanically constructed."

And I say,

"Yup, that it."

So my conscience adds,

"You can be such a mean reviewer, you know."

And I say,

"Fuck you, superego. I don't even trust Freudian psychoanalytical models anyway."

And my conscience goes,

"Eh?"

And I say,

"Exactly so shut up, fuck off and let the nice boys and girls out there know never to watch this film unless they're riddled with self-loathing."

And then the review ended.

Image - Amazon.