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I have to admit that, sometimes, when I lie awake in bed at night – usually during the periods of time when I’m not furiously masturbating to the pictures I have of Michael Cera glued to the wall, Todd Solondz Happiness-style – I often think about how I miss the early days of this website. That’s not to say that I’m not appreciative of the high quality material we’ve been getting here for quite some time now, but there were many bright, glimmering moments of cinematic brilliance that were introduced to me via the little guys who supported our birth – Anchor Bay, Other Cinema, Dark Sky – Seduction Cinema not as much, but you get the idea.
This, of course, leads me directly into Ricco The Mean Machine and – oh wait, no. Nevermind. It’s not a good movie. This movie delighted me in many unspeakable ways, but a good movie, it is not. Let’s create a list of Ricco’s virtues because, as we all know, the list-style of review is the easiest way to do a review:
01: Beautiful, beautiful sexism reigns supreme.
I consider myself a feminist in that I would like to see the fairer sex have equal rights, maybe even one day be allowed to wear slacks, possibly even vote in an election – not a presidential election mind you, but maybe something in the realms of the PTA, something small, something to work up from. But, Ricco The Mean Machine is an Italian exploitation flick from nineteen-seventy-whatever, which guarantees that the film is brilliantly misogynistic. Ricco is the kind of movie where it’s wholly appropriate that any question from a woman can easily be answered with a strengthy backhand to the face.
 For example, there is a scene in this film where Ricco, confronting and then making up with his ex-girlfriend who is now the bad guy’s lover, gives the woman a good bitchslapping right before escaping from the evil boss guy’s lair. Why does he do this after the reconciliation? My only guess is that he did so for authenticity, so the love of his life would seem truly assaulted when big bad bossman runs into the room to figure out what’s going on. Maybe Ricco is just a fan of Stanislavski, who knows. However, I’d like to think that Ricco is just communicating his love… With a vengeance.
02: Flessssssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
This definitely ties into #1, but I feel like I should point out that co-star Barbara Bouchet, who plays yet another one of Ricco’s love interests has, for lack of a better term, a quality rack. Some might think they’re a bit on the small side, but I dig that, especially when she’s spending half of her screen time either nude, getting nude, or contemplating getting nude, just like every other woman in the film. I wish to live in such a world, don’t you?
 03: This movie is goddamn weird.
It’s not just the castrations, the swimming pools full of acid or the exploding brains that drive home the point of the film’s oddness, it’s the smaller things that really get under one’s skin. As required by any Italian exploitation flick of the ‘70s, Ricco The Mean Machine was filmed with a multi-cultural cast speaking in their own language, and then dubbed over completely, giving a dreamy quality as some characters synch up with the English dubbing, while others are way, way off the map. It also doesn’t help that everything in the film looks downright artificial, as if every set, prop and actor was molded out of high-quality, edible marzipan. That’s not even considering the murky, grainy nature of the cinematography, adding a whole new layer of enjoyable sleaze to the film.
04: Who the hell owns a swimming pool full of acid?
What do you do with it on your off-days? Does it serve any other function other than allowing you to dump enemies into? All I’m saying is there has to be a lot of downtime with a pool full of acid, even when you’re a mob boss. Even Vito Corleone had enough off time to shove an orange peel into his mouth.
 05: Christopher Mitchum is a mannequin.
The very definition of wooden acting, Christopher Mitchum (son of Robert) manages to plow through the entire movie in a single expression of vague disinterest. Never managing to give off any acting chops and always holding the camera to his dead, Polar Express-esque eyes, Mitchum is a sight to behold. While drunk. Like I am right now.
These five examples add up to something that should, in theory, be unwatchable. But that’s not the case. Ricco The Mean Machine is a blast of insanity. It also just happens to be a really bad movie as well. But hey, that goes without saying.
 Presentation
Often cut down and distributed in other countries under various different names (This release being no different either – the title of the film is actually plain old Ricco, but that’s not catchy at all), Dark Sky presents to the viewing pubic a pretty ugly looking film. Only the final, dirt-filled shot of the film suggests Dark Sky’s remastering job being an improvement on whatever print was pulled for the release of this DVD. I can safely say, without having seen or even heard of this film before it landing on my doorstep that this is the best Ricco has ever looked or sounded. The only downsides might be the lack of any “original” Italian dub, and the subtitles, which are filled with grammatical imperfections. You think Dark Sky would hire someone who knows the difference between “your” and “you’re.”
 Extras
While only containing two extras, I hesitate to say that Dark Sky skimped on the extras. Sure the Italian-dubbed theatrical trailer is a given, but the meat of the disc is the eighteen-minute Mitchum The Mean Machine, an engaging interview with ole dead-eye Christopher Mitchum, who speaks candidly about – surprise, surprise – his initial disinterest in acting. Mitchum goes into his past with Johnny “The Duke of New York” Wayne and Howard Hawks before launching into the meatier bits about moving to Spain after getting blacklisted out of Hollywood.
The Bottom Line
This material is pure niche, and those who like it are going to really like it, despite knowing better. Ricco The Mean Machine is a nihilistic revenge flick with an artsy touch, but the strangeness never gets in the way of the sheer volume of sleaze. And there’s boobs, too.
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