Lordy, lordy, this movie was billed on the cover as "reminiscent of early Fassbinder," but has nothing of that quality to recommend it. Bad script, bad acting, bad, just bad! I must admit to a moment or two of sick admiration for its badness, but I'm fairly certain this was unintentional on the part of its creator, David Geffner. I'm not sure what this fella was up to, but Wild Blade isn't even good in an "experimental" kind of way. It's chock-full of moody jazz music that is apparently supposed to substitute for plot and angsty shots of people pouting for extended periods of time. Thom Crouch, playing the ruthless pimp, is fascinating in the same way that watching a car crash is fascinating; you just can't take your eyes off the disaster. Don't waste an hour of your life watching this thing. Really.
