There's a whole category of mostly subterranean movies in which some schmoe who's had delusions of grandeur his whole life spent his savings to bankroll a vanity project starring (and often writtten/directed/produced by) himself. The most famous example is of course Tommy Wiseau's "The Room," which actually managed to become a cult phenomenon. A few others have gained a little notoriety among seekers of camp gold, and there's a sort of subgenre in which some guy apparently thought "I must be the next Bruce Lee!" because he's the star of his local karate studio, never realizing that "block of wood" isn't just something to hand-chop, but the way his acting would be described. But most such films languish in obscurity, because they were perceived as too amateurish for release initially, then were entirely forgotten.
This is one of those movies, although I gather some people have actually heard of it. (I hadn't, until now.) It's an excruciatingly dumb, basic hero-vs.-criminal-bad-guys opus, with "You killed the only woman I ever loved" as plot motivation, though it takes quite a while to get to that point. There are scattered professional aspects-the photography is mostly acceptable on a direct-to-video B-flick level-but the script is atrocious and there's a lot of just idiotic filler, particularly in the realm of women with implants going topless for no discernible reason, and Wings Hauser improvising painfully as some kind of Method Nightmare comedic sidekick. But the main issue is writer-director-star-producer John De Hart, whose only screen credit this is-and no wonder. He's 50-ish gent of average looks, in decent shape for his age, but who has all the charisma of a paperweight. He is not an actor, has little apparent personality, and despite all selling of his character as one tough ex-cop hombre, does not demonstrate any particular martial-arts or other physical skills. (We see him use a punching bag several times, which is pretty underwhelming.) Worse by far, he seems to think he can sing-and he sings several vaguely "country" songs he wrote, including a "Shimmy Slide" that occasions the lamest imaginable line-dance accompaniment. Anyway, his singing must be heard...if you can stand it. It's beyond belief. Incredible that someone could be that bad (is he sharp? is he flat? is he even hitting what one would call "notes"?) and have no idea.
Anyway, "GetEven" aka "Road to Revenge" is a little too inept to be consistently hilarious; sometimes it just lays there. But it does have some camp value. William Smith manages to be simultaneously hammy and bored as the chief villain, with his leering thugs including a ringer for Fabio; the women, clearly cast for assets other than "acting ability," are uniformly dreadful; oh, and there are baby-sacrificing Satanists. This is the kind of movie so arbitrary that the latter element, which would tend to take center stage in most stories where it's included, instead plays here as sort of narrative afterthought.
A fun bad movie, but not a great bad movie, or one I'd watch again-hence the 5.
