Review of Hard Ride to Hell

I frikkin' loved this movie. It's pure grindhouse schlock, and I say that with the utmost affection. You root for Bob the hero when he starts flinging knives like a circus star, you want to poke out Miguel Ferrer's other eye for seeming like he doesn't give a crap about anything, you smile wide when you realize the little by in the opening scene grew up to be the lone ghost-town priest in the final scene, you feel the quintessential crying girl's fear when she sobs all over the broken CB radio, and you may never want to eat apple pie again. My single favorite moment is when the girl's hiding in the confessional, and the hands trying to grab her get chopped off, flailing in front of her face as she screams -- knee-slappin' cinematic grotesquerie at its finest. I also loved the ending. You sort of expect loose ends to be tied (or chopped) off, so the notion of poor, beleaguered husband walking away with his red-eyed wife and antichristy stepson, you sort of sit there waiting for the sequel to start right after the end credits. (Hint, hint.)