But, I digress.

Hood Angels lovingly recalls the glory days of '70s blaxploitation, a time when dozens of jive turkeys and trifflin' brothas could literally be found in every corner of the ghetto. Suitably, this modern-day throwback is stuffed to the bling with horrible performances, poorly-executed martial arts sequences, and plenty of naughty language. Director Paul Wynne — who went on to direct the notorious Heidi Fleiss in 2004's Alien 51 — does an admirable job giving the proceedings a campy vibe, right down to the use of Saturday morning cartoon sound effects during the flick's dodgy fight scenes. If Wynne wanted his picture to operate as an homage to that peculiar time in cinematic history, he certainly achieved his goal. Congrats!

That, I'm afraid, is where the praise comes to a screeching, blood-curdling halt in the middle of a busy intersection. The opening of the film promises loads of heart-stopping action, yet we're given very little in the way of martial arts excitement over the course of the story. Which might be a very good thing, depending on who you ask. If you've seen the unforgettable 1976 masterpiece Velvet Smooth, you should be well versed in the kind of pathetic kung fu we're forced to gobble down here. Graceful it ain't.

I've also been instructed by a certified medical professional to warn you that the acting contained in this motion picture may cause severe swelling in the temporal lobe, so please approach with extreme caution. Do not use if pregnant. Void in Kentucky, Iowa, California, Alaska, and parts of Belgium.

Having trashed this movie to within an inch of its pathetic life, how in the sweet cider of Hell's Kitchen did I walk away from Hood Angels feeling fun and fancy free? To be honest, I really don't know. The film is tore up from the floor up, and should be avoided by those who consider themselves above such tsk-tsk-tastelessness.

On the other hand, if you're fond of those crazy blaxploitation flicks of the late-'70s, Hood Angels should seem very familiar. Painfully familiar, even. The action is lame, the acting has been classified as a form of mental retardation by the Canadian government, and the production values are setting up cots at the homeless shelter down the street. But that's exactly what drew me to this too cool genre in the first place, which may explain why I'm an unabashed fan of Paul Wynne's Hood Angels.

Just don't hate me because I have poor taste, okay?