While en route to a nightclub, playboy Hal (José Gras) has a violent run-in with a neo-Nazi biker gang which ignites a series of vicious revenge attacks that culminate in murder.
Exploitation film-makers generally take one of two tried and tested routes—gritty realism or exaggerated excess; rarely are the two styles combined. Director Paul Grau, on the other hand, is clearly a true maverick of the genre, a man who likes to truck convention, break all the rules, do his own thing however unpredictable the result might be: for Mad Foxes, Grau recklessly combines genuinely mean-spirited nastiness with seemingly incongruent, over-the-top elements, and abandons technical perfection and logic in favour of a less rigid, more experimental approach to his volatile material. It's a radical stratagem which results in an undeniably unique piece of work—or to put it another way, the film is an inept one-of-a-kind mess, often unintentionally hilarious (or so I presume), occasionally shocking, sometimes completely random, but always totally insane.
To expound on Grau's bizarre combination of the ridiculous with the realistic, I'll describe the villains of the piece in more detail: sporting a range of clichéd motorcycle gang outfits accessorized with matching swastika armbands, the gang's appearance brings to mind the imbecilic Black Widows from Clint Eastwood movie 'Every Which Way but Loose', whose nefarious plans were constantly thwarted by Clint and his orangutan with suitably comical results. Despite their cartoonish countenance, however, Mad Foxes' bikers prove to be far from a laughing matter, raping and killing without mercy (but strangely enough, not putting so much as a scratch on Hal's swanky sports-car).
Another example of how director Grau casually mixes silliness with the surprisingly savage comes when Hal and his martial arts pals seek revenge for the rape of an 18-year-old virgin (whom Hal had hoped to break in himself): the fracas begins with some of the most pathetic karate ever captured on film, but ends with the bikers' leader having his severed penis unceremoniously jammed into his mouth. It's sudden changes in tone like that which have earned this film its reputation as one hell of a strange cult oddity.
Of course, with terrible direction, choppy editing, lousy acting, dire dubbing and poorly choreographed action, Mad Foxes is about as far removed from decent film-making as you can find, but it's hard to ignore any movie in which vicious rape rubs shoulders with rock 'n' roll jive dancing, evisceration and emasculation go hand in hand with full-frontal nudity and steamy sex, a visit to the crapper can result in sudden death (I've heard of suffering from explosive bowel movements, but this is something far worse), and absolutely no-one lives happily ever after.
Exploitation film-makers generally take one of two tried and tested routes—gritty realism or exaggerated excess; rarely are the two styles combined. Director Paul Grau, on the other hand, is clearly a true maverick of the genre, a man who likes to truck convention, break all the rules, do his own thing however unpredictable the result might be: for Mad Foxes, Grau recklessly combines genuinely mean-spirited nastiness with seemingly incongruent, over-the-top elements, and abandons technical perfection and logic in favour of a less rigid, more experimental approach to his volatile material. It's a radical stratagem which results in an undeniably unique piece of work—or to put it another way, the film is an inept one-of-a-kind mess, often unintentionally hilarious (or so I presume), occasionally shocking, sometimes completely random, but always totally insane.
To expound on Grau's bizarre combination of the ridiculous with the realistic, I'll describe the villains of the piece in more detail: sporting a range of clichéd motorcycle gang outfits accessorized with matching swastika armbands, the gang's appearance brings to mind the imbecilic Black Widows from Clint Eastwood movie 'Every Which Way but Loose', whose nefarious plans were constantly thwarted by Clint and his orangutan with suitably comical results. Despite their cartoonish countenance, however, Mad Foxes' bikers prove to be far from a laughing matter, raping and killing without mercy (but strangely enough, not putting so much as a scratch on Hal's swanky sports-car).
Another example of how director Grau casually mixes silliness with the surprisingly savage comes when Hal and his martial arts pals seek revenge for the rape of an 18-year-old virgin (whom Hal had hoped to break in himself): the fracas begins with some of the most pathetic karate ever captured on film, but ends with the bikers' leader having his severed penis unceremoniously jammed into his mouth. It's sudden changes in tone like that which have earned this film its reputation as one hell of a strange cult oddity.
Of course, with terrible direction, choppy editing, lousy acting, dire dubbing and poorly choreographed action, Mad Foxes is about as far removed from decent film-making as you can find, but it's hard to ignore any movie in which vicious rape rubs shoulders with rock 'n' roll jive dancing, evisceration and emasculation go hand in hand with full-frontal nudity and steamy sex, a visit to the crapper can result in sudden death (I've heard of suffering from explosive bowel movements, but this is something far worse), and absolutely no-one lives happily ever after.
