When you think of the name Stuart Gordon, you tend to think of H.P. Lovecraft adaptations, outlandish gore and – more often than not – the sight of David Gale’s severed head performing cunnilingus on a screaming Barbara Crampton; however, every now and then, big Stu would tackle stories that lay in other genres such as sci-fi, thriller or even family movies (never forget, he co-wrote and was originally slated to direct Honey, I Shrunk The Kids), but surely his most off-brand swerve was his attempt to capitalize on the Transformers phenomenon with a little movie named Robot Jox.
Utilising every Mecha trick in the book and even chucking in some Rocky IV style, Cold War angst to boot, Robotjox looked like it could be a tidy little sleeper hit in the making, but due to some financial issues with infamous, low budget producer, Charlie Band, and the combined fact that tensions with Russia had ceased and Transformers had dropped in popularity meant it was destined to become a cult oddity. What do you Mecha that?
Guess what? It’s dystopian future time and fifty years after a nuclear holocaust, mankind has gathered themselves up into two surviving nations – an American influenced society known as the Market and a Soviet influenced one known as the Confederate – who now settle global matters by sticking chosen champions into honking great robots and letting them batter it out to see who divides up the remaining patches of earth.
As it stands, the Confederate champion, Alexander – a sadistic brawler who always makes sure he battles to the death even if he doesn’t need to – has killed his last nine opponents and the only man who has a chance at slowing his roll is Achilles, a “Robot Jox” who is teetering on the verge of retirement thanks to him also scoring nine consecutive victories.
With the winner securing the entirety of Aslaka for their territory, the battle begins in ernest, but after Alexander somehow counters a weapon of Achilles that was supposedly top secret, the match is officially labelled a draw after the Confederate unleashes an illegal manuever that sends the heroic Mecha tumbling into the spectator stands, unhelpful killing around three hundred civilians.
After this spectator squishing tradgedy, Achilles – obviously traumatised – quits, citing that he’s fought his ten matches and that he’s getting out while he’s still alive, but there’s other things going on behind the scenes that carry an equal amount of drama. Not only is there rumours of a spy who is leaking details of all of the Market’ secret robot tech to the Confederates, but a new warrior race of genetically engineered test tube grown Gen Jox (dubbed “tubies”) are all too hungry to take Achilles’ place behind the wheel of these bludgeoning ‘bots.
Despite funding almost the entire first half of Stuart Gordon’s filmography (including Re-Animator and From Beyond), producer Charlie Band is often the reason given why the director never truly hit the mainstream. Now, whether the charges of Gordon being “held back” by the Puppet Master spawning money man are well founded or not is not really for me to say, but making a compelling argument for the prosecution is that Robot Jox certainly wasn’t done any favours by the implosion of Band’s Empire Pictures that the movie virtually being ignored during its initial release. However, I’d personally have to argue that, for once, Gordon may have actually been the problem here, because in the nicest possible way, Robot Jox is an utter mess.
Sent into one of those futures where logic has evaporated and childish concepts run riot whether they make sense or not (just how does one outlaw war, exactly?), Gordon delivers Saturday morning cartoon plots with heavy political undertones and the occasional splash of gore in a hope to ensnare the largest audience possible, but as a result ends up with a film that has no clue what tone it should settle on. In an ideal world, Robot Jox would have played the same trick that Paul Verhoven’s flawless Robocop pulled, delivering subversive, adult level thrills with childish energy and enthusiasm, but instead the results feels like an episide of Power Rangers trying to lecture you about the finer points of political sciences.
It’s also here where it’s obvious that the budget in no way can handle the strain of everything that’s demanded of it as all the scenes of a nuclear ravaged society constantly fall foul of mostly being shot inside rooms with no windows. Yes, I realise that it’s the 80s and to expect vast, bustling control rooms and complicated, futuristic machinery is asking too much, but to make a movie about brawling robots and then stage endless conversations in blandly coloured rooms is just fucking torture.
Elsewhere, if you thought that the scenario and effects leaned heavily into that Saturday morning kids show aesthetic, just wait until you see the acting that sees a blank-eyed cast try to deliver live action, anime-style line readings (and failing) decades before it was cool. Gary Graham is our lantern-jawed hero in crisis who stumbles blindly through a poorly thought-out redemption plot as he alternates between coughing up hard boiled insults like “You’re making my beer curdle.” to randomly blurting out random details about himself in a middle of an argument – I mean, there’s no shame in admitting you’re illiterate in a dystopian future, I’m just not sure how throwing it out there helps when you fight robots for a living. Joining him is Anne-Marie Johnson’s ambitious “tubie”, Athena, who has one of the most uncontrolled character arcs for a woman that I’ve ever seen as she rises up through the ranks, training on what appears to be a giant, booby-trapped, climbing frame only to be told that women don’t get to be Robot Jox. In retaliation she drugs a returning Achilles and heads out to fight Alexander herself… only to fail miserably, which makes you wonder why they bothered with the whole, weirdly sexist, plot thread on the first place.
And yet, for all its overly broad character stuff (Achillies’ trainer is a Stetson wearing, good ol’ boy’n called Tex) and nonsensical human stuff, once the robots finally get to stretch their legs, I can finally see why a small group of people embrace the movie as a cult classic. Not only do we get some awesomely kitsch stop motion effects from Dave Allen, but the robot fights feel nicely tangible and even I can’t deny that the movie has had some effect on cinema as Guillermo Del Toro’s Pacific Rim not only shares more than a little DNA with Gordon’s wonky epic, but he’s lifted imagery from it wholesale as the robot mimicks its driver as he smack a fist into the palm of his hand.
Alas, even the inclusion of bitchin’ robots fighting in space weren’t enough to raise Robot Jox above the realms of dumb pulp for me and the pilot’s amusingly awkward, Top Gun style salute – a thumbs up fist bump known as the “crash and burn” – proves to be shockingly apt.
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