BARE KNUCKLES

d. Don Edmonds (1977)

Bare Knuckles is sometimes described as a Blaxploitation film, despite the fact that it was produced, written and directed by a white man, and, after about forty minutes, dispenses entirely with its few black cast members and concentrates exclusively on Robert Viharo, a bepermed and moustachioed action hero of obviously Italian descent. But the original poster cannily emphasises the black actors and it does feel like a Blaxploitation film: fast, fun, daft, full of fighting, shouting and running around. At the end, I felt like I'd been watching it for about ten minutes.

Viharo plays Zachery Kane, a principled and unconventional ex-cop turned bounty hunter. In a quick montage, it's also revealed that he is a semi-pro boxer (who trains in jeans and a polo neck jumper), a kung fu expert and that he plays the flute, albeit in a way that produces synthesised electronic tones. He lives on pizza and sleeps in an office plastered with 'Wanted' posters. When a perverted psycho killer starts picking off young women, Kane decides to catch him, partly for the reward and partly because Kane is a good guy with a strong moral compass and incredibly tight jeans.

The killer, revealed early on, is a horrible, incredible creation: a stunted rich kid (in his 30s) who was so disturbed by his Mother's promiscuity that he grew up full of hate and sickness and murder and incestuous lust. Rather like one of the younger Trumps, the only way he can feel whole is to don a leather suit and a ragged gimp mask and stab young women to death, hissing and wheezing in a most disturbing way. He's a really horrible guy, with no redeeming features whatsoever and, when he kisses his Mom and tries to slip his tongue in, you can't wait for Kane to bring him to justice, preferably using a flaming chainsaw.

The last quarter of the film is a chase: by car, by motorcycle, on foot. The finale of the action, like Grease, takes place in a partially flooded storm drain. Unlike Grease, however, death is on the cards for at least one of our combatants. I won't spoil it by telling you which one, other than to say I actually pumped my fist and said 'yes!' when it happened.