Warner Brothers hit with Richard Roundtree starring in the
third epic of his 70’s trilogy---Richard is amazing as the “Brother
in the Motherland”. A
Movie club classic, this film will stand forever as the standard for the
virtues and vices we expect as discerning viewers of the absolute dregs
of the film industry. It
has a respected actor with a cause, the worst script ever written, and
a combination of technical, locational ( where are we?
Ethiopia, Busch Gardens, or whatever) and contextual errors ever
viewed by this esteemed body. We
have yet to reach again and my never reach this pinnacle ( or nadir) of
the stick fights—euphemism for what—to naked Shaft getting the woman
before her dreaded clitoridectomy, at every turn we are treated to yet
another excess of badness as he plays slave to rescue his brothers who
closely resemble lobbyists for the ragged loincloth industry.
Shaft’s rapid wardrobe changes—pressed jeans and L.L. Bean
jungle jacket out of the hold of the ship, the horrible makeup job on
the villainous rat fink “con the black kids into thinking they are
going to love Paris” character and the final glorious ending when all
are killed but not finally. One of the idiot actors actually tries to escape
responsibility and ownership of this awful movie by rising like Lazarus
out of a fountain where he had been drowned by at least thirty of the
loincloth types. Four stars
for this film of the how bad can they get genre.