Btch Slap* is neither the worst film ever made, nor the best. Obviously, that can be said about most films, but as you walk away from Btch Slap, the most likely and accurate review might resemble, "Well, that didn’t *completely suck." Clearly, it’s referencing classic, B-grade women’s exploitation films, chock-a-block with sexy vixens kicking butts and shedding clothes in glorious slow-motion. The problem, however, is that it’s as badly crafted as it is occasionally clever, a poor man’s Sin City, with no real sense of how to walk the tightrope between well-executed irony and stupid, cornball homage. That said, for all the men in the audience, there’s plenty of cleavage, blood and action-packed make-out sessions; for all the women, well, there’s probably something to be said about female empowerment and all-around bad-assery.
The story follows three hot-as-hell women on a quest to steal$200 million in buried diamonds from a second-rate gangster. Hell, a red-headed secret agent; Camero, a tough-as-nails member of the criminal underworld; and Trixie, a vapid, yet intoxicating stripper, all must survive one day in the desert digging for the treasure that the dead man in their trunk refused to give up. Of course, just how they got there, as well as any number of bizarre twists and turns, are revealed through a series of flashbacks – some as early as the night before, and some as late as six months prior. The inclusion of these flashbacks might actually have been interesting in a more serious film, yet any hope they have of layering the narrative is diminished by the general ridiculousness of everything from the acting, to the action, to the story itself.
And herein lies the rub…
Merely by virtue of claiming homage to earlier exploitation films, it’s difficult to say whether the hammed-up performances, or the terrible green-screen backgrounds, or any of the film’s other myriad problems are intentional or merely signs of lackluster filmmaking. Subsequently, whereas a critic might be able to acknowledge the achievements of movies they otherwise dislike, one can only give Btch Slap* the benefit of the doubt while simultaneously noting that none of it actually works. In fact, the movie rarely goes far enough. With the exception of one girl-on-girl kissing scene that drags on for far too long without ever escalating, or a sequence in which the sun-baked ladies douse each other with water in the obligatory slow motion, there’s virtually none of the sleaze, nudity, uber-bloody action or outlandish violence that characterize the old-school films featured in the opening credits. And if that’s your cinematic model, then go all the way, dammit! Commit to the kind of sleaze and violence toward which you appear to have been building.
With all that in mind, however, Btch Slap* is the kind of movie you could easily watch with three friends and a case of beer, laughing your head off while ogling the screen. It’s good-bad, not necessarily bad-bad, but either way you slice it, Btch Slap* is bad, and if you pay anything more than the cost of a rental, you’re the one being exploited.