"Guns make you nervous?"
Music: Dokken - Don't Close Your Eyes
Up-front, there's something you have to understand
about Charles Bronson in Death Wish V.
This motherfucker... is old.
The first Death Wish was filmed when Charles
Bronson was 50-fucking-3, and this movie came
two full decades the fuck later.
This cat was on a first-name basis with Hammurabi.
'How can I, too, age like Charles fucking
Bronson?' you inquire?
Watch and fuckin' LEARN, young grasshopper.
Death Wish V boasts perhaps the most brief
'opening-to-titty' window in contemporary
cinema.
I've seen porn more reticent to flash the
female breast!
You're literally inundated with a deluge of
nippular fortitude... a full minute before
you catch your first glimpse of Bronson himself,
who has, incidentally, returned to New York
City - for the third fucking time... presumably
to aid in the clean-up of the Brooklyn-sized
fucking CRATER left in the wake of Death Wish
fuckin' 3!
Because he's fucking Bronson, he is once again
nailing a woman who is younger than literally
anything in his gun cabinet.
And before you press for her name or occupation
- a fashion designer, for the record - permit
me remind you that this woman is tertiarily
involved with Paul Kersey.
She's BEYOND doomed.
This woman is a skeleton with a British accent,
rageaholics.
Perhaps in an effort to make her demise even
more imminent, before she upgraded to Bronson...
Dixie Carter over here used to be married
to one of the most powerful mobsters on the
east coast, played with aplomb by 'We're-Terribly-Sorry-We-Couldn't-Afford-Jack-Nicholson'.
And just in case the sword of damocles weren't
hovering quite precariously enough... she
decides she's in the mood to rat him out to
the F.B.I.!
You see, he's evidently a silent partner in
Dixie Carter's budding empire of bad wigs
and fetish apparel for the purposes of...
money laundering?
Which he wants her to do... more... of...
while making less... clothin-- Look, If this
shit sounds vague, confusing, or counter-intuitive,
it's only because it will never again be referred
to for the duration of the motherfucking film.
But her employees, it appears, prefer to take
orders from a bangin' milf... rather than
Jack Nicholson's value model.
"You know what your problem is?!"
"What?!"
"You and your boss think you don't have to
service your partners anymore!"
"Cause this company is too fat, and you?
You're the FATTEST!
I think you ought to have Doctor O'Sheay's...
one-second weight-loss!"
"AAAAAHHHHHHHH!"
But when Carl Winslow takes exception to the
sweat shop worker's treatment, the rapid encroachment
of political correctness in post-2000 cinema
comes into laser sharp focus...
"That's bullshit!"
"What's that?"
"It's bullshit, SO ARE YOU!"
"HEY!
I makes you da heeeeadnigga and you talks
to me like dat?!"
"Fuck you, you son of a bitch!"
"Reg!
You got a big mouth, now apologize to the
man!"
"I ain't saying shit!"
"Aw, now, Reggie... you know damn well if
you don't say 'shit'... you'll lose 90% of
your vocabulary."
"Oh, you people just never learn, do ya?"
"AHHH!"
"There you go, Sambo!"
But carving up Jim Sterling and muttering
racially-charged epithets works up a wicked
appetite, and it isn't long before O'Sheay
is in the mood for some Gunga Dinner!
"I bet it's beautiful... oh, it is!"
*DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNNN!*
"I can't tell you what this means to me and
Chelsea, she SO needs a father!"
"Can I take that to mean a 'YES'?"
"With all my heart!"
Dixie darts off to the ladies' room to scrub
the '90s off her frock... and if you've ever
nourished the hope that I would utter the
phrase 'Dermatitis-Afflicted Transvestite
Assassin' in a video... first off - what the
fuck is wrong with you - and second?
Happy Fucking KWANZAA, rageaholics!
"Oh, god DAMN dandruff!
Look at that beautiful face!
Take a good look at it... because...
I'm gonna' have to take it away from you!
It's best to be careful who you talk to!"
Well, THAT was certainly a thing that happened.
...but not nearly as spine-chillingly goddamn
terrifying as what we are all about to fucking
witness.
"Even with reconstruction... the face will
never be the same."
"You got a problem?"
"Guns make you nervous?"
"Guns have their uses...
IDIOTS with guns make me nervous."
God DAMN it, and they just rebuilt New York,
too!
But when Carl Winslow falls prey to a gaggle
of hired goons, Jim Sterling can withstand
no more!
He sings to the police, which ends about as
well as you would expect in a movie called
fuckin' DEATH WISH.
"AAAHHHHHHHH!"
Unfortunately, Detective Chun-Li over here
confuses the runaway car's fender... with
Manchuria, and falls prey to the most single
most vicious drilling of an asian woman that
wasn't hand-animated.
*Hentai Scream* YAAAAAAHHHHH!
In the aftermath, Bronson has a heart-to-heart
with Chun-Li's partner, and chokes down a
healthy dose of fully engorged police incompetence.
"You're not thinking of going back to your
old ways, are you?"
"Is that such a bad idea?!"
"You know, sometimes the law works."
"...and sometimes it DOESN'T."
"Tell me something... how long you been trying
to take these guys down?"
"16 years."
"Sixteen years?
That's a long time to be failing."
...well, that never stopped Sony.
Recovering from being turned into fuckin'
JIGSAW, Bronson's gal-pal decides the wisest
course of action is to LOUDLY DECLARE HER
INTENTION TO SPEAK TO THE FBI.
Wendy O. Williams wasn't this determined to
fucking die!
"Promise me, if anything should happen to
me..."
"Nothing's going to happen."
*THUNDERCLAP*
"But still... you'll take care of Chelsea?"
"Of course, I promise."
"I love you."
"...and I love you."
*Phone rings*
"Hello."
"I'M COMING FOR YOU."
"Yes?"
"Dwight McDonald, Justice Department."
A mere mortal might open the door for the
transparent, shotgun-toting imposters.
But Charles Bronson's mustache sense is tingling...
"Who is it?"
"GOONS."
"Who?"
"HIRED goons."
"Hired goons?"
You MIGHT think this would touch off a bitchin'
apartment showdown with Bronson snapping every
guido in New York in fuckin half.
You would, however, be forgetting that this
movie is from 1994!
Which means it's half-past time to hold on
to your dicks and brace for gratuitous, '90s
Slow-Mo.
Fuckin' THANKS, John Woo!
You've officially filmed a 74-year-old man
in slow-motion!
What's next?
Filming a glacier in bullet time?!
Of course, our gallant tranny assassin from
the opening act corners Dixie on the roof...
and there is nothing fuckin' glacial about
the rate at which she plummets to her middle-aged
demise.
"Olivia!"
Before he can generate any life-giving tears,
the goons cut Kersey off at the pass, but
if you believe he is in any real danger, you
would be fucking mistaken.
Bronson, you see... is Lord King of the Moon.
And - like his lunar domain - he is comprised
of many phases:
From Paul Kersey, mild-mannered pacifist architect...
to the original Agent 47... to rocket launcher-toting
Urban fuckin' RAMBO... but Charles Bronson
is about to remind us all that - even in his
mid-70s - he is STILL the original fucking
BATMAN!
With the metamorphosis from mustachioed mediator
to caped crusader now complete, Bronson heads
out for a light meal...
...of fucking REVENGE!
Oh, but it can't be all work... you see, Bronson
always has time for low-impact sporting activity.
And what better candidate than the most popular
sport in the world?!
"Oh.
Birthday Present?"
"A treat for someone special."
"How lovely!
Won't THEY be surprised!"
"Know what I mean?
Know whatI mean?
Nudge Nudge Know what I mean?
Say no more.
Know what I mean?"
The catch?
We're playing Death Wish Rules: No hands,
no feet, no skull... and watch for falling
one-liners!
"Hey, Freddie!
I'm gonna' take care of your Dandruff problem
for ya!"
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"
For those filling out scorecards at home,
that makes 2 of 4 shitbags taken behind the
goddamn Murdershed.
We're-Terribly-Sorry-We-Couldn't-Afford-Jack-Nicholson
ain't taking it lying down, however, and sets
a heavily-armed, heavily middle-aged trap
in a room filled with enough naked, plastic
bitches to be mistaken for SoulCalibur 6.
...but what item in his fearsome arsenal will
Bronson employ?
His gun?
His mustache?
His perpetually confused alzheimer's gaze?
Ah, but you've already forgotten Bronson's
table of elements.
Fire.
Water.
Wind.
And fuckin' SURPRISE!
If you just asked the question 'Why is there
an electrified fence... indoors... in a fuckin'
mannequin factory?'... you're already taking
this film more seriously than its director.
With only himself and a six-shooter standing
between Bronson and Hack Nicholson... the
mob's enforcer heads it on down to the obligatory
Murder Factory
...and move the fuck over electroshock douchebag!
Because the award for most creative demise
in a Death Wish film has officially been fucking
usurped!
"I have no gun... you wouldn't shoot an unarmed
man, would you?
Would you?
Kersey?"
"AHH!
AHHHHHH!"
So THAT'S how Chorizo is made!
But Paul Kersey isn't here for dyspepsia-inducing
Mexican cuisine...
Armed with a bitchin' shotgun, and with O'Sheay
on the ropes... he beats his candy ass and
shanks him one for the sake of poetic justice...
but where antagonist deaths are concerned,
how in nebulous fuck does one top the Chorizo
Grinder Machine of Doom?!
*Jeopardy theme plays*
"What is...
BADA-BING?"
Oh, we're terribly sorry, but all signs point
to 'CHARLES BRONSON MULCHING THIS MOUTHY LEPRECHAUN
IN A VAT OF MOTHERFUCKIN' ACID!'
"Whatever you need..."
"I don't need anything... but you?
You need a BATH."
Is Death Wish V the worst in the series?
Eh, probably.
But the worst Bronson film still curb-checks
the lilly-livered fuck out of Jason Statham's
entire filmography.
It lacks the lunacy of Death Wish 3... and
falls short of the pathos of Death Wish 1
and 2... but between the slow, brooding build
to BRONSON, and easily one of the most magnetic
antagonists in the history of action films,
Death Wish V: The Face of Death is far from
devoid of its own, unique merits.
I'm RazörFist.
Hey, ma!
How's about a Death Wish 6?!
"No dice"
Dis...
Ain't...
OVA.
'We believe the perp might have been somebody
else... you recognize him?'
'He had a lot of makeup on...
I-I don't know.'
