Hell Ride is not a movie. It's like if Tarantino went to film school and learned too much, or if Scorsese never did. Either way, it doesn't amount to what might be called cinema. You can dismiss an art film by saying it doesn't make sense, and you can criticize a bad film for all its flaws. Hell Ride doesn't have anything to discuss.
Review: Hell Ride
It's got pseudo-Tarantino grindhouse elements, but black and white footage, flashbacks and freeze frames aren’t devices in that they don't define anything. Characters philosophize about the dust and other baser, sexual metaphors. It's not that they don't make sense, it's just that they don't even seem to exist.
This script really makes me appreciate the dialogue in Death Proof. At least those girls were talking about things from our world. These guys throw around big words as if it makes their vulgar rantings clever. It's spiritual musing by way of B movie clichés, neither forwarding the plot nor making any observation. They're so busy musing, they forget to say anything, and when they converse, it's like the Dan Hedaya conversation in Joe Versus the Volcano. The actors certainly earned their money saying this.
I think the Wild Hogs could kick these bikers' asses. They may talk tough and shoot guns and bash each other with bottles, but they're so slow and glazed, they're only in their own little world. They couldn't be a real threat to anyone.
Even the boobies don't help. I feel bad for them. They're perfectly good boobies but they just appear amidst this nonsense and don't even seem to fit. No boobies should ever go to waste. They should be lovingly caressed and framed and well lit, not just thrown in with the mess.
But don't worry about all this. There's no reason to watch Hell Ride, and it's highly unlikely you'll ever find it. It won't be out in major theaters, and its DVD will certainly show its true colors on the box before anyone can accidentally rent it.
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