Snake Eater (1989)
Released in the late 80s/early 90s surge of low-budget action cinema, Snake Eater is the unlikely, straight-to-video foundation of an unexpected trilogy. Starring Lorenzo Lamas, the rugged heartthrob of Falcon’s Crest fame, this film occupies the lower shelf of most veteran video collectors, but it punches well above its humble weight class.
Beneath its rough-around-the-edges façade lies a surprisingly lively, unapologetically derivative action-comedy. It’s a messy blend of Martin Riggs’ renegade cop antics mashed up with Rambo’s solo vengeance mission, all filtered through a lens of cheap thrills, redneck villains, motorbikes, and mandatory wisecracks.
At the centrer of this gloriously messy outing stands Jack “Soldier” Kelly (Lamas), a tough-as-nails, decorated Vietnam veteran from a Marine Special Forces unit nicknamed the “Snake Eaters.” After getting suspended for using extreme force during a drug bust, Kelly returns home only to find his parents brutally murdered and his sister kidnapped by a sadistic gang of backwoods “rednecks” in rural Tennessee, led by the demented “Junior.”
Driven by pure vengeance, Soldier ignores the law entirely and initiates a brutal, one-man war. The absurdity peaks, even more than the amount of times Soldier loses his shirt, when he gets help from an old mechanic who improbably modifies his motorcycle into a river-faring jet ski. The film’s charm lies in its enthusiastic embrace of this action-movie logic and blissfully absurd premises.
The standout element is Lamas’s wonderfully charismatic performance. Soldier is, by design, endearingly stupid. He loses his gun, gets captured, and makes monumentally bad tactical calls, surviving only by sheer, dumb luck. Lamas plays this dim-witted hero with infectious glee, bringing 110% energy to material that barely demands 40%. He is the undeniable glue that holds the often-nonsensical plot and budget-constrained pacing together.
Kelly with a gun, minutes before he drops it.
While Robert Scott is notable as the villain Junior, the film truly belongs to Lamas, whose screen presence ensures that even the most basic action sequences feel competent.
Snake Eater is the definition of a guilty pleasure. It’s often a bad film, but its charm is undeniable. It’s a loud, unashamedly fun movie built on the earnest desire of its filmmakers to deliver action and comedy without worrying about trivial things like subtlety or logic.
For aficionados of campy late 80s/early 90s action, or anyone who appreciates films that embrace their own glorious nonsense, this trilogy starter is absolutely worth revisiting.
Took a few years to track down the original in Ireland, I remember the sequels being widely available on VHS sitting unloved on the lower shelves of a video library. I had to import a DVD from the states to see this entry.
It’s still not the easiest to watch today, however, Germany has a faily good looking release of the trilogy on Blu Ray.
