SYNOPSIS:
At an expo showcasing the latest android models from around the
world, a fight erupts between the stoic German cyborg and the aggressive
American model. Things quickly get out of control, but the situation is
defused by the Hong Kong android Eve R27. A visiting oil sheik is very
impressed, and invites Eve’s crew to join his team, which is developing a
“robot legion”. A crazed Japanese scientist kidnaps the sheik’s son,
however, in a last-ditch attempt to force the sheik to work with him on
the robot legion. His risky technique combines human thoughts with
computer programming, and he creates an unstoppable killing machine that
embarks on a merciless rampage of rape and mutilation. It is up to the
makers of Eve to design a new and improved model that can go toe-to-toe
with the sinister cyborg.
REVIEW:
Robotrix is a slam-bang mash-up of genres and
influences, all worn proudly on its sleeve. An action/comedy/sci-fi
movie with lashings of sleaze and gore, it dives all over the place
tonally yet retains the kind of charm that’s hard to shake. It might be
1991, but like many films of the era the production is tarred with the
previous decade’s brush; it is an age when all computer monitors
displayed a black screen with glowing green text, and couples couldn’t
have tender, loving sex without turning it into a montage backed by a
gag-inducing schmaltzy tune. And the Cantonese electro pop that bookends
the film would probably make Giorgio Moroder skewer his own ears with a
pair of chopsticks.
But this daffy low-budget hijacking of classic Hollywood action (most obviously in the form of The Terminator and Robocop),
filtered through a low-brow sexed-up sensibility that recalls the likes
of Russ Meyer, makes for a somewhat laid-back diversion among the more
reality-based gorefests that typified Category III output at the time.
For a film that seems to want to hang with the big boys of action and
sci-fi, the budgetary constraints actually add to the fun. The light
touch and fast pace keep things entertaining, despite the fact that the
film contains scenes of sexual violence that might feel like a slap to
the face – kind of like the director has, without warning, forced you to
smell his finger after an offscreen fingerbang. The violence extends to
several nasty kills, including a hit-and-run sandwich-style crush and a
blade in the mouth, all perpetrated by the intimidating evil cyborg,
played by Canadian/Hong Kong actor and former kickboxing champion Billy
Chow.
The unpleasant aspects of the film are firmly intertwined with the
comedy – plenty of which is intentional, but is also aided by moments
where five bucks was spent on something for which a Hollywood production
would have budgeted thousands. The sound effects are drawn from a
hilariously limited palette, where body blows are deflected with the
thump of a bass drum and fast limb movements sound like the flap of a
sail in a strong wind. The wires used for stunts are similarly
overenthusiastic; characters tend to levitate instead of leap, and
bodies are thrown great distances – showing how much more badass a robot
can be when it knows kung fu.
The casting and dubbing, always an amusing fixture of a vintage Hong
Kong production, is culturally reductive to the nth degree – the actor
playing the Arabian sheik looks more Eastern European than Middle
Eastern (perhaps the casting director thought they got it half right),
and all actors, including the Japanese and Caucasian ones, are dubbed in
fluent Cantonese.
Nevertheless, the action is far more important than the accents, and the action sequences in Robotrix
are bursting with energy. The imposing figure of Chow as he raises hell
and assaults various women with his roboc**k is suitably menacing. But
the real stars of the film are the women, enhanced in more ways than
one: the well-endowed tag team of sex siren Amy Yip and Japanese actress
Chikako Aoyama, as a couple of androids on the trail of Chow’s pelvic
pulverizer, are very easy on the eye and pull off their physical duties
(and I’m referring to the action sequences here) admirably.
Yip in particular brings an adorable naiveté to her role as a virginal
robot who is curious about sex. When the cops prepare a sting operation,
for which they need one of the women to pose as a prostitute in order
to lure out the killer, she immediately volunteers for the job. She
dresses up in the kind of outfit that epitomizes both supreme confidence
and self-loathing, with the heart-melting line, “I must taste the life
of a whore”. It’s enough to make both Robocop and the Terminator shoot a
synthetic load in their metal shorts.
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