“They don’t care. They’re Range Guides.”

Drake’s rating: Calamity Jane would’ve scored the lot of ‘em

Drake’s review: In 1975, producer Roger Corman and New World Pictures had a decent little hit on their hands with Death Race 2000. Directed with tongue firmly planted in cheek by exploitation veteran Paul Bartel, it quickly became a cult classic and still finds new fans today. Wanting to follow up on that success, Corman commissioned a script from longtime collaborator Charles B. Griffith with the intent on focusing on motorcycles rather than cars this time around.

Unfortunately, the script was not considered a very good one and went through several drafts, and none of the experienced directors in Corman’s employ wanted to take it on. Eventually Nicholas Niciphor, a USC graduate with some short films to his name, was given the opportunity to direct.

It did not go well.

There are conflicting stories over just what happened in the course of filming Deathsport. One side has a neophyte director out of his depth and, unable to bring the picture in on time, getting fired by Corman and replaced by Allan Arkush. The other side has an egomaniac star bullying the young director, going so far as to break his nose with a sucker punch while the drug-addled cast and crew spent their off-time smoking and snorting their way through the 21-day shoot.

Honestly, the drama behind this movie is far more interesting than anything that made it to the screen.

Nothing here resembles the wit, the brisk pacing, or the crazy action of Death Race 2000. Instead we get David Carradine (the aforementioned egomaniac star) running around in a loincloth and swinging a plastic sword that makes a whistling noise. Yes, it’s truly the lowest of the low-budget lightsaber knock-offs. He’s one of the horse-riding good guys, here called Range Guides. The bad guys are mostly unnamed goons who jet around on motorcycles that sound like vacuum cleaners that have accidentally sucked in an errant cat toy. And I hope you like that sound, because it never, ever ends.

The bad guys capture Carradine and take him to a matte painting of a futuristic city. There, he gets locked in a dingy janitor’s closet and writhes around on the floor when the jailer zarks him with badly rendered electricity effects. Not gonna lie, Carradine writhing around wearing nothing but a loincloth is pretty traumatizing viewing material. And since we need a love interest, former Playboy Playmate Claudia Jennings gets captured and locked in another cell. She and Carradine make googly eyes at each other and then they try to escape. Their plan is cut short by basic ineptitude and a fog machine, and they all pass out in a misty haze. Cut to a naked Claudia Jennings wandering through a room of plastic tubes filled with Christmas lights, simply because it’s the ‘70s.

It’s not just you, by the way. I am also totally lost by this point.

So the matte painting of a city has something called Deathsport going on, which has evidently replaced Sunday Night Football. And also Monday Night Football. Probably the Thursday game as well. But where Death Race had colorful characters behind the wheels of weird cars, Deathsport just has some guys tooling around on silver motorcycles and occasionally blowing up.

So things get even more ‘70s when Carradine and Jennings get all Zen and chant together like they’re at an EST* meeting. Then there’s more nudity and more flashing lights, and Carradine and Jennings get dressed up in Luke Skywalker’s spare pajamas and go out to do some Deathsporting, which admittedly involves some nifty explosions and a few half-decent stunts. And honestly, “half-decent stunts” is the highest praise this movie is going to get from me.

There’s an escape (successful this time, as there’s no fog machine to spoil things this time around), a chase and more things blow up. Then Carradine decapitates the lead bad guy (Richard Lynch, The Sword and the Sorcerer) with his whistling sword and the movie mercifully ends.

Even at a brief 81 minutes, Deathsport overstays its welcome. The direction is pedestrian at best, the cast sleepwalk their way through the cheap sets and dreadful dialogue and the accompanying music track is an unholy mix of synth-pop and jazz. I don’t care if you’re on horseback or riding a motorcycle, get away from this one as fast as you can.

*Erhard Training System, an early “better living through positive thinking” seminar. It was very, very ‘70s.

Intermission!

• A worm’s eye view of a mostly naked David Carradine jumping around some rocks was something I didn’t need to see.
• Deathsport had a tiny budget of $150,000, less than half of what Death Race 2000 cost. Most of that was spent on star David Carradine. The rest was for the pyrotechnics. And probably cocaine.
• After his experience on Deathsport, Nicholas Niciphor never directed another movie, although he did write several.
• Allan Arkush, who was brought in to direct re-shoots, also directed the cult classic Rock ‘n’ Roll High School and later moved on to a long career in television.