Oh Brad...

Oh Brad...

I’ve never said that I’m not an easy customer. This is so obviously low hanging fruit that, for the past twenty years, you’d find listed at like twelfth down on the back of one of those “crime movie” collections buried at the bottom of a five dollar movie bin at Wal-Mart. There’s a whole lot of stuff I’d watch for Brad Dourif and, admittedly, Dourif as a priest who gets framed for the murder of a stripper sounds like the exact kind of hard boiled thing I like. I could sit here and wax poetic about how so much of this is really not all that good but why bother? Final Judgment knows what it is and never tries to trick you or prove itself to be anything else. At least two of these stars are planted firmly on the shoulders of Brad Dourif, who I really believe might be one of the all time underrated American actors, and the way that he is giving such a grand performance that you could argue this flick doesn’t even deserve. I’ve seen enough of his body of work by now to point out that he has such a profound way of shedding tears that always looks so painful and agonizing to me. Dourif isn’t much of a crier, per se, but he knows exactly what little touches to add to really sell you on the pain that his character is enduring and the way he goes stone faced and delivers his dialogue so rigidly and with such gritted teeth, that single tear rolling down his eye hits like a freight train. Nobody else is really up to his level and I don’t get the sense that they’re particularly trying to be, although I do think that Maria Ford as a softhearted and endearing dancer that Dourif is (reluctantly) attracted to is genuinely charming and has solid on-screen chemistry with him. Found myself most interested in the thing when they were onscreen together. And I do have to hand it to it: it’s a total sleaze fest. Delicious trash. A smoggy, dirty little Los Angeles thriller that I have to say looks so awesome. Louis Morneau (who I identify as the director behind Bats, a horror flick that I’ve never seen but remember being entranced by the VHS cover art for every time there was a family outing at my cousin’s place) directs a lot of the strippers’ routines as tantalizingly and as explicit as you could expect if you’ve ever gone to the real thing. A genuinely dazzling little moment when Dourif first sees Ford’s number in all of its blasphemous glory. And, as I’m sure I’ve made clear anytime it’s been appropriate, I am an easy target for anything with religious over or undertones. The premise alone genuinely hooked me, beyond the promise of Brad Dourif. And I did pretty much eat up anytime the priest and the stripper had to compare and contrast the lives that they live, as I did with the notion of an overbearing religious upbringing turning our villain into a serial killer targeting women he deems to be sexually impure. It’s not a totally fruitless movie, but it is pretty unavoidably stupid and not mature or qualified enough to really talk a lot of what it’s got on its mind. Still, though. God Dourif is on fire the whole way through. Not a bad way to kill ninety minutes with some cinematic junk food.

I’ve never said that I’m not an easy customer. This is so obviously low hanging fruit that, for the past twenty years, you’d find listed at like twelfth down on the back of one of those “crime movie” collections buried at the bottom of a five dollar movie bin at Wal-Mart. There’s a whole lot of stuff I’d watch for Brad Dourif and, admittedly, Dourif as a priest who gets framed for the murder of a stripper sounds like the exact kind of hard boiled thing I like. I could sit here and wax poetic about how so much of this is really not all that good but why bother? Final Judgment knows what it is and never tries to trick you or prove itself to be anything else. At least two of these stars are planted firmly on the shoulders of Brad Dourif, who I really believe might be one of the all time underrated American actors, and the way that he is giving such a grand performance that you could argue this flick doesn’t even deserve. I’ve seen enough of his body of work by now to point out that he has such a profound way of shedding tears that always looks so painful and agonizing to me. Dourif isn’t much of a crier, per se, but he knows exactly what little touches to add to really sell you on the pain that his character is enduring and the way he goes stone faced and delivers his dialogue so rigidly and with such gritted teeth, that single tear rolling down his eye hits like a freight train. Nobody else is really up to his level and I don’t get the sense that they’re particularly trying to be, although I do think that Maria Ford as a softhearted and endearing dancer that Dourif is (reluctantly) attracted to is genuinely charming and has solid on-screen chemistry with him. Found myself most interested in the thing when they were onscreen together. And I do have to hand it to it: it’s a total sleaze fest. Delicious trash. A smoggy, dirty little Los Angeles thriller that I have to say looks so awesome. Louis Morneau (who I identify as the director behind Bats, a horror flick that I’ve never seen but remember being entranced by the VHS cover art for every time there was a family outing at my cousin’s place) directs a lot of the strippers’ routines as tantalizingly and as explicit as you could expect if you’ve ever gone to the real thing. A genuinely dazzling little moment when Dourif first sees Ford’s number in all of its blasphemous glory. And, as I’m sure I’ve made clear anytime it’s been appropriate, I am an easy target for anything with religious over or undertones. The premise alone genuinely hooked me, beyond the promise of Brad Dourif. And I did pretty much eat up anytime the priest and the stripper had to compare and contrast the lives that they live, as I did with the notion of an overbearing religious upbringing turning our villain into a serial killer targeting women he deems to be sexually impure. It’s not a totally fruitless movie, but it is pretty unavoidably stupid and not mature or qualified enough to really talk a lot of what it’s got on its mind. Still, though. God Dourif is on fire the whole way through. Not a bad way to kill ninety minutes with some cinematic junk food.

This is a titty movie. Sure, there’s talented actors and the veneer of an AIP take on a vaguely noir thriller. It’s still a titty movie.

This is a titty movie. Sure, there’s talented actors and the veneer of an AIP take on a vaguely noir thriller. It’s still a titty movie.