Jó zsaru, rossz zsaru

The once very lucrative and democratic VHS market, where almost anyone could succeed with an action flick, began to fall apart in the first half of the 1990s. The existing low-budget producers began to be pushed out not only by young, more aggressive B-movie companies like PM Entertainment, but were overshadowed by mid-budget films with less luminous stars co-financed or distributed by the major studios. While some of the leading trash producers of the previous era, such as Shapiro-Glickenhaus Entertainment, gradually threw in the towel, other veterans still tried to take one last futile swing at the competition. In the preceding decade, the duo of trash fantasists David Winters and David A. Prior had managed to get by with unreasonably juvenile, low-budget action flicks shot with a bunch of non-actors in the woods behind the house. But then the new decade forced them to increase their budgets and, mainly, to upgrade their casts with famous faces. In a certain respect, Raw Justice is the absolute peak of this trend (the thriller Raw Nerve stands a rung below it). In its day, this otherwise typically ridiculous Priorian dreck was considered a desirable gem thanks to the silicone advantage of Pamela Anderson, whose appearing nude in two scenes easily made up for any shortcomings of the film. The contemporary sex icon from Baywatch at least somewhat tries to imbue her role with a bit of charisma beyond what the hopeless screenplay calls for. Facing the same challenge, other members of the stellar ensemble tried to do the same with varying degrees of success, with the underappreciated David Keith doing the best, while Stacy Keach took on an air of complete resignation Admirers of David A. Prior’s movies will be pleased not only by the presence of the master's brother Ted in a supporting role, but also by the fact that higher ambitions did not in any way diminish Prior’s haphazard intuitiveness as director. After paying all the famous faces’ fees, there was apparently not much left in the production budget for any other proper attractions. The movie’s few shootouts, two explosions and one motorcycle chase (evidently filmed at a maximum speed of 15 miles an hour) show rushed sloppiness, which is also exuded by other mechanically rendered sequences. In the hands of anyone a hair more capable, Raw Justice could have ended up as a decent buddy movie, but as it is, it remains nothing more than a work with a hopelessly underused cast and a screenplay and execution that hold it down. Which is a very sad outcome, as Prior’s ’80s gems were no masterpieces, but they were tremendously entertaining and fascinating with their guileless naïveté and obstinate artlessness, as well as the paradoxical symbiosis of the abilities of all involved. The greatest tragedy of Prior’s filmography thus consists in his career trajectory, whereby the amateur fantasist worthy of cult status gradually became just another in the ranks of hopeless plodders. (2021.02.14)