Riot on 42nd St.

I realize this is nothing to brag about, but I have seen almost all of Tim Kincaid's films. Riot on 42nd Street is probably one of his better films. I know that's not saying much but come on. When all the dust clears, the film ends, you gotta admit, you watched the movie.

Adequate acting, inept fight scenes, and stand-up comic getting a deserving death by a shotgun during a nightclub massacre, make this no-budget wonder worth a look.

Two things concern me. What caused the riot? And why did the police not investigate the nightclub massacre?

The recent, overtly self-conscious resurgence of the "grindhouse" aesthetic (with filmmakers cramming their movies with skin, in-your-face violence, and faux-documentary techniques for a sense of "realism") is the only hope for any renewed interest in a well-forgotten film like "Riot on 42nd St." And even as a time-machine trip back to an era where NYC was an unabashed cesspool of junkies, prostitutes, and live sex shows, its unflinching display of urban squalor and decay eventually becomes a chore to endure. Far be it for me to bemoan the period: Lucio Fulci set one of his best films, "The New York Ripper," in the heart of Big Apple sleaze, and the result was a bit of nasty giallo genius. The problem with "Riot on 42nd St" is: writer-director Tim Kincaid (of "Robot Holocaust" infamy) is no Lucio Fulci...at the end of the day, he's not even Bruno Mattei. The dual-expressioned John Patrick Hayden plays Glen, an ex-con looking to revive his former theater; Kate Collins is the perpetually dazed cop who loves him; and a third-billed Jeff Fahey shows up for a few scenes to cast two-mile stares on the rest of the cast. What little plot there is revolves around a competitor's attempts to muscle Glen out of town; when the clientele is massacred on opening night (in the midst of some endless performance-piece padding), our ex-con vows lantern-jawed revenge. If Kincaid had any film-making skill whatsoever, "Riot" could have been a nifty chip off the Larry Cohen School of Guerrilla Movie-making, but the man can barely establish setting (the where and why of what is happening is vague at best), the action is ineptly choreographed (right down to the titular event), and the performances (Fahey's excepted) are terrible across the board. "Riot on 42nd St" is proof that a setting on its own is not enough to ensure a film's place in history (even the niche ghetto of Cult status).

I noticed there was another Fahey listed in the end credit so maybe that could be a reason why he took a supporting role in a low-budget New York action film directed by the notorious Joe Gage (well known for male adult film in the 70's, aka ex-actor Tim Kincade). Because Fahey was in Bigger roles at the time, and this is pretty low-budget for a rising star to do.

Fahey plays a cop in a 4 appearence cameo in a basic plot about a small time criminal (played by a stuntman turned actor) who runs a 24 hours movie theatres in 42nd street, who got out of prison after killing a man by accident. He is going to re-open the theatre's basement that is a gambling casino nightclub (with a terrible comedian name Ajax), and his old rival wants the place closed down. Lots of social message of Grindhouse getting closed down, and about how the neighborhood. Lots of graphic violence, and even a return of "black Dragon" Van Clief is a supporting role. Frances Raines is wasted in a nothing role. Some real treat is to see the street the way it use to be, and a catch title theme. Kincade making a successful transition doing the Fred halsted film to video films like the JOE GAGE TAPE to directing non-adult film could've been the next Abel Ferrera. Recommended.

Writer / director Tim Kincaid bumbles and stumbles his way through this thin story of rival night club owners in NYC, and the weary detective (played by the movie's only "name" actor, Jeff Fahey) standing on the sidelines, and making commentary, but never doing very much. Aside from the irresistible chance to see vintage 42nd St. footage and to get a feel of that ambiance, "Riot on 42nd St." just ain't as much fun as it ought to have been. The main problem is that Kincaid's movie could have used at least a little more energy; it just sort of plods along and only sometimes comes to life. About 54 minutes in, there's a hilarious, over the top massacre (makeup effects courtesy of the under appreciated Edward French), but after that things kind of slow down again. They pick up again for the finale, but by then it's a case of too little too late. For most of the movie the appeal lies in laughing at Kincaid's lack of timing, the frequent awkward moments, the badly done fight scenes, and the utter stiffness of the performances. John Hayden (who sports an admittedly awesome moustache) plays the main character, Glenn Barnes, returning home to the family business after spending time in the slammer for manslaughter, who must do battle with ultra sleazy creep Leonard Farrell (Michael Speero) and his muscle bound henchman Remy Wyler (Carl Fury). Kate Collins as Michelle and Frances Raines as Barbara are real lookers; Collins delivers one of the single most awful acting jobs captured on celluloid that this viewer has ever seen. There are some delectable topless dancing scenes, but they, along with other scenes of comedy and singing, mostly seem to serve to basically pad the running time. Adding to the fun are stand-up comedian Zerocks and martial artist Ron Van Clief, playing themselves. The non-stop, upbeat soundtrack is a delight to listen to, and it's likewise nice to see the various theater marquees. In the end, the title promises a better time than we should have had watching this, but if one can stick it out through the duller points they may derive some entertainment from this flick. Six out of 10.

What can I say, this is one of the worst of the worst. Sure its so bad its funny, but the ineptitude wears after twenty minutes and its just a slow slog to the end.

The plot has a guy returning to 42nd street after sometime away and planning on opening a nightclub in the middle of it. The big shot who runs the street and who hates our hero does everything he can to stop him, including machine gunning the opening night crowd to death. Its bad acting, violence and comedy in spades.

The film film is set, and was made, in the last of the bad old days of 42nd Street. This was before Rudy and Disney came in and cleaned it all up. This is the 42nd street that you avoided like the plague since you probably would be robbed or worse. It was a place of incredible danger right off the Great White Way. It was filled with characters of every description, most of whom wanted to get something from you,usually in the quickest and least honest way possible. The way its portrayed in the film is both as better and worse than it was depending on what the plot needed. The most glaring error put me in hysterics as a mostly white middle class audience attends the opening of the nightclub. It would never have happened, certainly not without a heavy police presence. The director of this film, was/is in the gay porn industry and should have known better.

As a record of what the street looked like (kind-of, sort-of) the film is a valuable document, except that the continuity is so awful that any one who knew or knows the area will get a headache with mismatched shots. (and even if you don't know the area, watch what passes outside the windows during the opening cab ride, and match that up to what we see happening on the street) As an actual watchable film of any quality this is the pits. Its dumb, simply dumb. While some of the acting is okay, most of it isn't.(And what the hell is Jeff Fahey doing in this garbage beyond getting a paycheck?) The direction is bad. The action...is not be taken seriously. The whole thing is just barely in the so bad its funny category, but not in place that can be recommended.

If you are nostalgic for the bad old days before Disney, and don't care about quality, give this movie a try (my rating of 2 is purely nostalgic). Everyone else give this film a wide berth.

Ultimately anyone admitting to having seen this or owning this should be beaten (yea, me too). Anyone admitting to liking it should be locked up in an institution. And anyone who admits to having been part of this film's production should be forced to eat a print of it (They brought into the world, they can help take it out)