Shotgun (1989) Directed by Addison Randall. With Stuart Chapin.
Shit. That’s the word that most accurately sums up writer-director Addison Randall’s low budget revenge film, Shotgun. Ironing your own face for 84-minutes might prove a more enjoyable activity than sitting through this misogynistic filth. I’m still not even sure I should be admitting I watched it, but seeing as I have, I feel somewhat duty-bound to ensure you never have to.
It features one of the most laughably bad lead performances I’ve ever seen in a film…and I’ve seen Stephen Baldwin in Shark in Venice. Stuart Chapin plays Ian Jones – a ‘cop on the edge’, you might say. There’s a serial killer in town, one who preys upon prostitutes. Ian isn’t going to rest until he’s solved the case, that is, with his own brand of justice.
It aches to be Lethal Weapon, but everything is utterly terrible. The acting, the direction, the fight scenes, the dialogue, the music, the editing, the sound recording…the list is goes on. For the sake of my sanity, I watched this film with a good friend – someone who, like me, enjoys the occasional b-movie madness. We find fun in picking them to bits, laughing at the absurdity. Watched alone, however, Shotgun is tantamount to psychological self-harm. It’s the sort of experience you’d emerge from, feeling a sense of dwindling hope about the world. I’m not even sure a generous measure of whiskey could get you through it intact.
From the painful use of shrieking guitar trills between every scene, to the title song ‘Shotgun’ that bookends the ‘film’, not a single moments registers as even mildly decent. Being constipated on the toilet offers a better narrative thread than the one you’ll find at the heart of this ineffective nonsense. You may think I’m being overly harsh, but trust me, I’m being kind. 1/5