Using an infamous sci-fi thriller as his springboard, Matty thinks on the idea of movies being ‘so bad they’re good’.      

I have a complicated relationship with ‘so bad it’s good’ and the RiffTrax/Mystery Science Theater 3000 mentality. It’s paradoxical I suppose. I’ve certainly scoffed at a few movies, and without MST3K I probably wouldn’t have discovered things like Manos: The Hands of Fate (1966) and Santa Claus Conquers the Martians (1964). However, the older I get, the more ragging on a movie for — air quotes — ‘comedy’ and the more prefixes such as ‘trashy’ and, even, ‘schlocky’ nark me, to the point where, if I could do it all again, I wouldn’t have called this site The Schlock Pit. For the record, when we conceived the site, Dave and I thought our use of ‘schlock’ was a reclaiming effort. Several tongue lashings from our cinematic obsessions later — specifically, a terse email from the mighty Jim Wynorski — we realised that what we thought was an empowering gesture of solidarity to films and filmmakers we felt were snubbed or maligned was actually kind of dickish and patronising. Thus, every bit of contact we’ve made with anyone we’ve interviewed since has always been accompanied by an apology or an explanation (“excuse the name but —”). 

Among the earliest Terminator (1984) ambulance chasers, R.O.T.O.R. (1987) was famously roasted by RiffTrax in 2014 and has been subjected to many a cry of ‘trashterpiece!’ and ‘schlocky bobbins!’ in the intervening years. Insert a big fat FML here. Objectively speaking, the flaws are astronomical. The dialogue is dreadful. Characters speak in either bursts of flowery, cod-profound introspection (super irritating lead Richard Gesswein – given the role in exchange for providing a large chunk of the budget – especially) or exposition that’s lent an extra surreal edge due to the inordinate amount of looping employed. Story goes that R.O.T.O.R., a grassroots epic shot in and around Dallas, Texas, anywhere between mid ‘85 and late ‘86 depending on your source, was taking so long to complete that, come post, key members of the cast were unavailable or unwilling to attend ADR sessions, leaving the slack and narrative gaps to be picked up and papered over by literal hired voices. Those who supply the dubbing are given prominent space in the end credits — an atypical touch.

There are a handful of meta flourishes and stabs at humour — an explicit nod to its Arnie inspiration and some jokey prattle — but they go perversely wide of the mark thanks to Cullen Blaine’s po-faced direction. By all accounts, the film’s scripter/production designer, Budd Lewis, shared a similar gripe. Legend states Lewis disowned R.O.T.O.R., miffed to high heaven at how Blaine ignored the purposefully jocular aspects of his screenplay — and, if IMDb is to be believed, its bigger set pieces. 

For the first forty minutes of the film, the pace is alarmingly inconsistent. Scenes run on and on and on without propulsion or concern for such prosaic things as drama, stakes and character development. Indeed, based on the first half of the film, it’s actually difficult to understand why R.O.T.O.R. is so revered among clag connoisseurs. It initially lacks the overarching silliness and unfettered madness of full-throttle howlers Deadly Prey (1987), The Room (2003), Troll 2 (1990), and — my personal favourite — Empire of the Dark (1990). If anything, it’s just boring; the only real hallmark of a truly, TRULY terrible movie experience. 

Thankfully, as R.O.T.O.R. trundles on, a few slivers of imagination begin to sneak through. There’s a wise-cracking robot sidekick seemingly slung together from junk lying around B&Q’s stockroom; an R2D2 facsimile, played, incredibly, by an actual robot that was supposedly purchased by the Addison, Texas Police Department as a promotional gimmick and leased to Blaine et al. There’s the ace stop motion effects used to render the R.O.T.O.R.’s metal skeleton, its “combat chassis”. There are some inspired — air quotes again — ‘creative choices’ deployed by the cast, the bulk of whom make the performers of a primary school nativity play look like the Royal Shakespeare Company. There’s the film’s composer, David Allan Newman, as the jive-talkin’ Shooeboogie; a turn as wildly offensive and awful as his pulsing electronic score is brilliant and evocative. And then, when the titular police droid (the acronym stands for ‘Robotic Officer Tactical Operation Research’) escapes and starts running amok out in the community, R.O.T.O.R. becomes something else entirely. A totally different movie, almost; a cat n’ mouse thrill-ride that’s weird, tense, effective, and devilishly entertaining. 

A lesser discussed attribute of R.O.T.O.R. is how great it looks. The Blu-ray age has outed the film as incredibly well shot. Lensed by Glenn Rowland — whose cult chops extend to the infamous Ilsa: She Wolf of the SS (1975) — R.O.T.O.R.’s visuals call to mind John Carpenter’s Christine (1983) and Prince of Darkness (1987). It shares the same sort of inky photography, and boasts the same sense of lingering unease, as if we’re strapped in and watching a nightmare unfold. While Blaine fudges a significant number of conventional trappings with his execution (because conceptually R.O.T.O.R. reads a dead cert — a fried gold winner), the disquieting mood he fosters as the killer ‘borg (mostly embodied by Carroll Brandon Baker) pursues a damsel in distress (Margaret Trigg) is glorious. Multiple images strike a chord. Complemented by the liminal space aesthetic induced by several eye-catching locations (the standout is the Dallas Infomart), they exude a mesmeric hyper-focus that, for the most part, renders the R.O.T.O.R. a genuinely intimidating presence – albeit a somewhat goofy intimidating presence that can be stopped by a beeping car horn… 

Much is made of R.O.T.O.R.’s parallels to RoboCop (1987). Most incorrectly cite it as a rip-off. Fact is both films were pretty much produced in tandem. According to critic Mike H. Price in the 15th February 1987 edition of the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, ‘Blue Steel’ — as R.O.T.O.R. was originally known — was in production during autumn ‘86 and clashed with the production of RoboCop, which, amazingly, was also shooting in Dallas at the same time. R.O.T.O.R. helmer Blaine referred to the matter as “very bizarre”, and the film’s production consultant — former United Artist’s exec Max E. Youngstein — acknowledged the overlap, commenting “their basic plots are: how do we create the perfect cop?”. In the kookiest blast of synchronicity, R.O.T.O.R.’s antagonist, actor Michael Hunter, even appears in RoboCop. He’s “Peter Whitley, Home Owner”, in one of RoboCop’s news skits.

Price went on to say that R.O.T.O.R. — which, circa his write-up, was finishing editing — was due to hit U.S. cinemas in spring ‘87; a few months ahead of RoboCop’s premiere in July. Elsewhere, a 13th February 1987 copy of the Los Angeles Times lumped R.O.T.O.R. within a bunch of incoming robot capers, mentioning it alongside Cannon’s Cyborg (1989) and Empire Pictures’ Robot Jox (1989). Ultimately, the film was acquired by Manson International and landed on U.S. video on 28th July 1988 via Imperial Entertainment. Imperial subsequently added to the Terminator/RoboCop cycle with the Nemesis saga which they produced and Cyborg director Albert Pyun — who went on to orchestrate fellow droid-sploiters Heatseeker (1995) and Omega Doom (1996) — shepherded. 

R.O.T.O.R. graced British shelves slightly ahead of its stateside bow, in June ‘88, through RCA Columbia, and the film surfaced in Canada in November ‘88 through Norstar Entertainment’s home video wing. The most interesting trivia surrounding R.O.T.O.R., though, are the separate tragedies which befell three of the talent involved in its production:

Marking his sole live action work, Cullen Blaine — an accomplished animator and storyboard artist, hence his flair for composition — passed away on 2nd December 2020 after contracting COVID-19.

Another animator and storyboard artist (a particularly notable and fitting credit is boarding Mark L. Lester’s masterpiece, Class of 1999 (1990)), Budd Lewis was also an acclaimed comic book writer who contributed to Vampirella, Creepy and Eerie, and the co-creator of The Rook. Alas, he died on 8th August 2014 aged sixty-five following a period of homelessness, whereupon he and his wife were left with little else but their struggling hot dog cart business. “The Lewises don’t have an enclosed cart,” the Oregon Live grimly reported.  “They can’t afford the rent on one of Portland’s great cart corners. They’re getting hammered by the rain and they’re on schedule for homelessness again in two weeks’ time.” [1]

And star Margaret Trigg died on 16th November 2003. A performance artist and stand-up comedian, Trigg was a tremendous beauty who, in a cruel twist of fate, struggled with body dysmorphia, eating disorders, and a host of undiagnosed mental illnesses. She died at the frighteningly young age of thirty-nine, killed by a massive heart attack caused by her addiction to laxatives, amphetamines, and plastic surgery. As a friend of hers commented to New York Magazine, “I don’t know what freaked me out more: that she thought she needed surgery or that surgeons were willing to operate on someone who obviously didn’t need it, and was clearly messed up and fragile.” [2]  

It’s information worth remembering when you’re next chuckling at R.O.T.O.R. 

[1] A Creepy, Almost Eerie Turn of Events for Budd Lewis by Steve Duin, Oregon Live, 15th January 2011.
[2] The Perfect Margaret Trigg by Isadora Fox, New York Magazine, 22nd April 2004.