Some time last Fall I was in midtown Manhattan, crossing the street following an extended wait in line at the Shake Shack. I was irritated not only that I had spent longer standing in that line for a couple of burgers than I’d ever spent in line at the DMV or the post office combined, but because it had killed my entire lunch hour in doing so. As I was crossing, some total cock snot in an unnecessarily large SUV (handy for the biggest potholes Brooklyn as to offer but absolutely not needed for the smooth avenues of Manhattan) decided he wasn’t going to obey the rules we know as traffic laws, and would park in the center of the crosswalk rather than before it as he’s supposed to. Because of Mr. Snot’s inconsideration for we lowly pedestrians, myself and everybody else had to walk in front or behind the shit monger’s urban assault vehicle, cussing at him and throwing up fingers left and right. One old guy wasn’t about to resort to childish name calling though, and instead he whipped out a set of keys, said something along the lines of “fuck you, you fucking piece of shit” and proceeded to run the business end of his keys down the side of this asshole’s paint job before continuing on his way like nothing had happened. It’s to this tough old son of a bitch that I dedicate this review for Project: Kill, because without old “don’t give a fuck” bastards like himself, nothing would get done around here and the fuckheads of the world would go unpunished for their fuckheadery. Thank you crazy old man!
Brought to us by William Girdler and David Sheldon, the men who either bestowed upon us or beat us down with Grizzly depending on how excited you get by movies that move Jaws away from the beaches and into the woods. Leaving Yogi and friends at home for this one, Project: Kill avoids the “nature run amuck” genre and instead goes down the yellow brick road of “man on the run” fugitive flicks. As we sit through our opening credits, we’re “treated” to a title theme that sounds like a slightly less spirited homage to the old “Headline News” music. We’re then introduced to a US government training film in which the king of Canada is killed by assassins and it’s up to a one-man wrecking crew to take out all of the bad guys before they can escape… so I guess the government was behind the production of a number of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s movies? Not really surprising, as I always assumed there was some kind of conspiracy behind Junior and Jingle All the Way.
The training film/action movie in question is shown as part of the introduction to a government program (called “Project: Kill” in case you couldn’t guess) to create super powered secret agents by turning otherwise average men into pill-popping, steroid pumping, nerve tonic ingesting, brainwashed titans who will be to kill the enemies of our nation with nothing more than toenail clippings and briefcases… that last part was literally something said by Leslie Nielsen… I wasn’t making that part about toenails and briefcases up what-so-ever… seriously…
The super spy course is being conducted by former program graduates and current super agents John Trevor (a pre-comedy days Leslie Nielsen) and Frank Lassiter (Gary Lockwood). However, Trevor’s become increasingly unhappy with the current direction of “Project: Kill” (I just like saying that name) and its growing emphasis on artificial stimulants, chemical enhancements and brainwashing over actual training. When you’re involved with something with an intense name like “Project: Kill” though, you know the government’s not going to let you leave so easily, as pointed out by Lassiter who tries to stop his squash his old friend’s rebellion toot-sweet. Before he can blow whistle on this would be whistle blower (ironic, yes?) and call in the mind-wipe squad to make the old man docile again, Trev lays a judo chop upside his sorry ass and goes on the run!... to a soundtrack out of a bad ‘70s chick flick. Nothing intense, nothing fast paced, nothing action packed or full of funk, just something that sounds like it was lifted straight off of Love Story, cancer doomed romance and all.
Our hero ends up in beautiful Manila, where he drops in on his old “Project: Kill” buddy Carl (an enfeebled white guy in a wheel chair) and their mutual pal the whimsically named mute guy “Hook”… who, incidentally, doesn’t live up to said whimsical name… which is really unfortunate because I was hoping for a hook hand to pop up in one of these movies sooner or later… Anyway, the longer Trevor’s away from “P:K”s pharmaceutical plan the more his body suffers from withdrawal, which eventually includes migraine headaches, voices in his head, and bouts of slow-motion. Well, at least he can be thankful he’s not suffering visions of Exorcist babies…
Not wanting to raise suspicion of what Trevor’s really on the run from, the government folks put out a fake story to the Philippine government that John Boy, in the interest of dicking over his government for not paying him enough to retire on, has stolen a collection of plates from the US Mint, which he intends to sell for mucho bucks to any foreign interests that can meet his price tag. This is the story that Lassiter sticks with as he arrives in the Philippines to work with local law officials in attempting to capture Mr. Trevor… dead or alive… preferably dead. When some not-so-pleasant chaps from Hong Kong catch wind of the story though, they fly into Manila themselves to see if they can’t track down Mr. Trevor for their own purposes and get their hands on some US currency plates. The leader of the goons is a Mr. Alok Lee, who looks like the old brother to wrestling great and 2007 Wrestling Hall of Fame inductee, Mr. Fuji. This isn’t a simple case of “they all look alike over there” either Captain Racist, he actually looks like Mr. Fuji! And now, a word from our sponsors…
When Trevor goes into hiding (by staying at a local luxury resort under an assumed name…), he meets a native girl by the name of Lee Su (Nancy Kwan) to play his cinematic love interest. Watching the two interact is painful and forced, so yes, that means it’s the cinematic equivalent of prison sex. All I ask is that you please don’t make me sit through another Leslie Nielsen sex scene Mr. Girdler, I promise I’ll be good this time! I’m begging you sir, mercy! MERCY!... then again, the complete lack of chemistry between our hero and the lady could possibly be worse than any sex scene the two could make me sit and vomit through, so it seems I’m damned either way. In all honesty Mr. Girdler, was Nancy Kwan just banging your producer(s) at the time? Is that how she got this job? Please just tell me that’s the truth and I’ll understand, that’s all I’m asking for: some kind of closure in this dark hour… So, while Trevor’s contracting God knows what kinds of local STDs from Madam Su, his pals Carl and Hook are left to take the pain for him when Alok and his crew come looking for our protagonist. Proving they’re genuinely evil mofos and not just some of those pantywaist Mafioso types, the bad guys shoot Hook point blank in the chest with a shotgun before beating the crippled Carl to death and stringing him up outside of the house. Alas poor Carl, he had that sickly AIDS look about him, he grew a terrible ‘70s mustache and he was always bitching about the lack of wheelchair ramps in Manila, but he wasn’t a bad guy. And Hook, well, you couldn’t talk and you didn’t actually have a hook of any king, but you were a hell of a Charades player and you always smelled like cocoa butter for some reason. We’ll miss you guys, wherever you may be.
When the troupe from Hong Kong find Mr. Trevor, a car chase ensues and includes the always classic staple of a terrible movie: tires squealing on a dirt road. Despite this groan inducing “charm”, the chase ends rather quickly and with a limp-wristed finale, so it’s ability to save at least some of the movie is cast into the black pit of Gary Lockwood’s little boy haircut. Speaking of Mr. Lassiter, he’s back at his hotel, teaching us that when an agent receives a secret message while in a foreign land, well, let’s just say that they have to avoid public toilets for a few weeks… okay, that was sorta funny and kinda practical I guess. Good for you Mr. Lassiter, you’re not a total tool after all. Keeping on the topic of Big L though, while staying in his hotel room he receives several phone calls from his superiors regarding updates on his mission. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear it was Cobra Commander on the other end of that phone…
When it comes down to the wire, will Trevor sell the secrets of “Project: Kill” to Alok for a healthy retirement fund and safe passage for himself and Lee Su? Who will walk away from the dockside showdown as Trevor and Lee Su, Lassiter and the Manila police force, and Alok and his goons converge for the “action” packed climax? The ending is something of a surprise, but since I just told you it’s something of a surprise you’ll probably already figure out what it is and thus won’t feel the need to sit through the movie yourself, so you’re welcome for that. One thing’s for sure, if the rest of Hong Kong’s underworld is as ignorant on the concept of strategic cover during a firefight as Alok and his men are, I think the whole country’s just better off giving up their individuality and becoming Lil’ China.
Despite having one of the greatest movie titles of all time, Project: Kill in two parts bland and one part crap. Whether you want to call it “blap” or “crand” is up to you, though personally the first one sounds like the sound effect a spitball would make hitting your kid sister in the eye, while the second sounds like the processed through which normal fruit juices like apple and grape become “cran-apple” and “cran-grape”… yeah, stick with “blap”, cuz watching this is just like that “spitball in the eye” thing. Yeah, Project: Kill is blap. The story is blap, the acting is blap, the characters are blap, the music is a big ugly blap and so on. Though the fight sequences are blap as well, it’s always fun to watch lumpy middle-aged white guys pretend they know kung-fu. Whether it’s their chunky bodies trying to mimic actions usually relegated to smaller, sleeker frames or the hilarious twisted faces and shrill guttural screams the guys make while doing their thing, you’ll either find it a riot to laugh at or a good reason to dig out your smashin’ hammer and acetylene torch. Blap kids, leave it at that.
The Moral of the Story: Leslie Nielsen is not programmed for love.
