Starring Jim Kelly, Harold Sakata, George Lazenby, Myron Lee, Terry Moore, Aldo Ray, Bob Minor, Patch Mackenzie
Directed By Al Adamson
On paper, Death Dimension comes off as a film that could do no wrong. Take everybody’s favorite afro sporting karate legend, Jim Kelly. Put him up against ice bomb wielding loose cannon, Harold “Odd Job” Sakata (of Goldfinger fame). Throw in a copious amount of boobs, car chases, and repeated karate punches to the balls. Just to make things interesting, toss another struggling James Bond dropout in need of a paycheck (George Lazenby) into the mix. Sounds fucking fantastic! I’d practically be begging those guys at the ticket stand to take my money away.
Yes sir. You’d have to have a sadistic, mad lust for disaster to fuck something this awesome up. But the minds behind Death Dimension manage to do just that against all odds. What should end up being a karate fighting, titty groping, asphalt burning good time instead winds up a boring lesson of what not to do in the editor’s chair. Scenes drag on much longer than necessary, while others should have been excised from the very beginning. An extended sequence at a Nevada whore-ranch serves no real purpose other than to fit a few more seconds of boob time on screen. How hard is it to just flash a pair of breasts on the screen if that’s what you want? Do you really have to show Jim pulling up to the building, walking up to the establishment, greeting the woman up front, selecting a prostitute and taking her to a room for a mere five seconds of boobage? I know Jim Kelly probably didn’t mind shooting the scene, but it only takes the viewer that much further away from the already jumbled narrative.
I have no beef with shoddy production values, as I believe that is where some of the best ideas come from. But dude, you have to at least put in an effort with what you’ve got. The opening sequence has Odd Job testing what is supposed to be a deadly ice bomb, capable of freezing an entire nation over. But what the viewer gets are six dudes tied to a couple of wooden stakes while somebody sprays fire extinguisher foam into the shot. If it wasn’t for the crazy Haitian guy ripping an undercover police officer’s throat out seconds later, I’m not sure I would have made it through this one.
Acting is probably the biggest disappointment. Jim Kelly just barely skirts by on charm alone. If it wasn’t from his buttery smooth delivery of lines like “Hang in there baby” while leaving a henchman dangling from a fire escape, he really would have little else to do here (besides punching guys in the balls, or off of cliffs). Odd Job delivers lines in what is probably the most strained use of the English language my virgin ears have ever witnessed. When he says “You new girls have such tiny tits” in that borderline shouting monotone of his, it’s makes you want to pull your hair out and laugh hysterically all at once. My favorite line probably comes from the scary, pinky-ring wearing Haitian guy though, “That’s where we’re staying sir, with all of your fatsy whores”. Besides these wacky moments of unintentional humor, the acting is dull and forced, with actors who can’t even hide their lack of enthusiasm behind their performances. Hell, even George Lazenby forgets that he’s playing an American most of the time, accidently letting his Australian accent slip through in nearly every other scene. You know your cast is phoning this one in when Odd Job’s pet turtle has the arduous burden of carrying the dramatic weight for your actors.
The ultra-funky bass and synth soundtrack is pretty fucking badass though.