I'd give this a 1 out of 10, but because the colour is good, nothing seems out of focus, big buildings are effectively set alight, I can't do that, in all fairness. Nonetheless, God only knows how any self-respecting filmmaker could look at the James Bond movies, think "I'd like a piece of that action" and then make this piece of tepid crapola. Not only is it tepid, but it's embarrassingly, self-consciously smug and seems to think it's funny. The women are stupid, with vague motivations; our leathery-faced, Marlboro-voiced all-American hero is supposed to be a real lady-killer and action man; and the genre is classified as Sci-Fi. Sorry folks, but one top-secret weapon made with Ruby crystals does not Science Fiction make. (apologies for overuse of the hyphen but I can't help myself) Richard Egan made a convincing weary gunslinger in Tension at Table Rock, but here, where wit and charm is required, he's left floundering. Furthermore, he looks as if he wouldn't hustle if his arse were on fire. To pull of that stunt in this type of film, you have to be a little bit cool, and more than a little bit suave. He doesn't have it I'm afraid. Sean Connery he ain't. Heck, Dean Martin he ain't! Can you believe it: they've even given him a wifey type who throws plastic vases at the door in a limp-wristed manner because he'll be late for dinner while saving the free world from the Red Menace. That could, of course, be funny. But here it most emphatically is not.
Review of The Destructors
