VFW

Every now and then, Hollywood will get a weird itch about making a movie with older actors in incongruous situations. Wild Hogs had middle aged dads become a motorcycle club. Space Cowboys had senior citizens as astronauts. VFW puts a cadre of familiar “that guy” character actors into an Assault On Precinct 13 siege style movie, but strained through a grindhouse lens. A girl comes running from drug dealers, their entire stash in her backpack, into a VFW hall. The vets there all band together to protect the siege of dealers and junkies looking to get back their supply. If the movie has any notable flaw, it’s the overuse of color filters and bad lighting. Scenes can be rather dark, and the lighting effects used can get annoying. I’m sure there could be other flaws, but if you enjoy carnage and over the top violence and a celebration of the cheesiest, most violent, most ridiculous exploitation movies you ever watched at 2:00 AM on that syndicated station in the UHF band, you won’t care about any of them. This movie is a celebration of 80’s excess and 70’s grindhouse aesthetic. Simple wounds spill blood like a geyser. Every gunshot results in gaping holes and exploding skulls. It isn’t realistic in the slightest, and it revels in this. The crazy hyper-violent motif is mirrored by the grungy, grainy cinematography and hard-edged soundtrack that’ll have you fist pumping with every swing of the axe. And holding it all together are a bunch of awesome character actors: Stephen Lang, Martin Kove, William Sadler, Fred Williamson, spend 90 minutes chewing more scenery then a dog living on a planet made of Milk Bones. They grumpy-old-man their way through the movie and it is a damned delight. It’s non-stop adrenaline. It’s stupid as hell, but not an insulting way; it just doesn’t ask you to do anything but get pumped up and stay there. Some movies are a roller coaster. This is a NASCAR race on rocket fuel. Get in, sit down, strap in, and hold on.