This movie is completely fake. It’s all artifice. Its fusion of 80s urban dystopia crime thriller and 50s rock and roll stylings consists of one-dimensional characters uttering parodic cartoon dialogue as they wander through a cacophony of leather and motorbikes and pompadours and neon and old studebakers. Michael Paré gives the flattest line readings and fails to convince anybody he can act.
Somehow it (mostly) works, because while all the movie can stand on is style, it has it in spades. Part of that is Walter Hill’s visual sense and editing, but at least half of it is the music. Ry Cooder’s rockabilly soundtrack keeps things vibing but the opening/closing concert scenes featuring songs by Jim Steinam absolutely whip and are filled with bombastic energy. At its worst the movie is flat and boring but at its best it becomes the cinematic equivalent of listening to a stupid but fun as hell rock album
