Dollman (1991)


director: Albert Pyun
release-year: 1991
genres: scifi, action
countries: USA
languages: English

On a futuristic distant planet that looks more or less like 1980s Los Angeles with flying cars, a bunch of middle-aged white cops talk to each other in whispered growls. The growliest cop solves a hostage situation by walking in slowly and growling at them until they have heart attacks and fall over. His boss yells at him to take off his sunglasses because it is nighttime.

Not sure if he can even see what's happening.

He goes home to watch TV, which consists mostly stretched faces rotating around in a field of blue static. Somebody with great hair shoots wildly into his apartment, missing, and then zaps him with a laser pointer. They teleport to an industrial wasteland.

At least his enemies have very bad aim.

He meets with a severed head floating on a hoverboard. They have an excessively stiff back-and-forth explaining the backstory to each other. I guess it's supposed to be suspensefully threatening, but we have no reason to care about any of these characters yet. The growly cop starts shooting at wastelanders and they explode into cherry-red messes, but their heads stay alive and keep talking.

The Head That Wouldn't Die

Somehow they're suddenly in a spaceship chase in outerspace, and it doesn't go well and the growly cop crashes into a shiny timewarp, which deposits him in The Bronx. The soundtrack shifts to brass-horned hip hop to celebrate.

He must have wandered in from the set of Dune.

The camera zooms all around The Bronx, showing us everything it has to offer,in particular murdering, robbery, and desolation. At least four people die in the location switch. In America, people don't whisper-growl; they loudly talk just shy of yelling, as if they aren't certain if the microphone will hear them.

At least it's daytime in America.

A local Bronx girl attempts to stop a drug deal, but they beat her up and kidnap her and drive her out to the unkempt fringes of the city where the space cop happens to have crashed. He blasts holes in some of them with his gun and the rest flee. The girl he saved goes to thank him, and finds that he's but a wee tiny miniature man. He mutters something about hating giants, and from now on every shot is forced-perspective.

The lesson is to stay out of local politics.

She tells him he can't stay here, picks up his whole space ship, and runs home with it like she just got a new lego set and she can't wait to get home to build it. She takes him home to her son, who is even more excited, and he blasts cockroaches with his giant revolver.

The kid shows him off to all of his friends.

The drug dealers come back and find the head-man that the cop was originally chasing. He offers them a world-ending bomb in exchange for help, and they find the terms agreeable.

They aren't aware that they live in the world.

In between boring chit-chat and general hoodlum bickering, we are treated to classic late-80s action movie dialog like: "Fight fire with fire." "I always thought you fight fire with water." "… some fires are too big."

Several hoodlums are gut-shot.

The gang kidnaps the girl again and Dollman has to leap out of the window, hang on to their car, and ride into the set of Escape from New York. There's a long, boring period of attempted suspenseful build-up as the gangbangers wander around aimlessly and Dollman slowly climbs things. Things get exciting when the whole gang shoots wildly at him, but nobody can hit him because he's very tiny and he's on the roof. He can hit them just fine, though, and various people and things explode.

Snake?  Snaaaaaaaaake!

The cop drops his gun and a gangbanger picks it up, and all seems lost, but he whips out a magic blue tractor beam that is apparently built in to his hand for just such a moment. Said moment is fleeting, and then the gangbanger detonates the world-ending bomb. Rather anticlimactically, it does precisely nothing.

No further explanation is offered.

The credits roll over a medley of short clips from the very film we just watched.

Twice the bang for your buck.