For a film such as this, sugar coating a review with too many flowery adjectives and emotive metaphors is not a good idea. In fact, you sort of get the feeling that slasher aficionado and director of the 70s exploitation ode that is Dear God No! James Bikert (Better Off Bound, 1998 and Dumpster Baby, 2000), would be downright offended by any literary dodging of bullets. So let’s just come out with it. In the suitably direct and brutal nature of high school grading, Bikert gets a C. And whilst a C in school usually means you could’ve put more work in, in Bikert’s case it’s more like he shouldn’t have tried so damned hard.

It’s annoying that this film is only okay, as its potential, on paper, is massive.  Brought to the screen by Monster Pictures (responsible for the frighteningly brilliant Monster Fest) and Big World Pictures (responsible for the likes of, well, this), Dear God No! calls itself ‘retro bikers vs. Bigfoot’ circa 1976 which, lets be honest, sounds amazing. Centred on the activities of an outlaw motorcycle gang going by the deliciously obvious title ‘The Impalers’, the film follows these middle-aged leatherheads as they rape and murder their way into a tight corner before retreating into a secluded woodland cabin, which seems safe enough to them, but will clearly prove to be otherwise. Cue a bunch of basement-dwelling Nazis and more wincingly disgusting moments and flashing of naked bits than an episode of Embarrassing Bodies. The acting, script and postproduction is all spectacularly low budget and as monstrous as the characters behaviour and, with this in mind, any exploitation double feature fans should by this point be thinking they’ve stumbled across their perfect film. The only problem is that it isn’t.

Though the soundtrack is brilliantly befitting of its narrative, and the bikes and cars make even the most vehicularly-disinterested of people slaver at the revving of their engines, the film as a whole droops. Whilst the initial cabin scenes glimmer with the potential for sinisterly monotone-acted extreme cinema, the moment the bikers converge with it, all hope is somehow extinguished. It is as though the genre Bikert is so determinedly emulating was only ever described to him through textbooks and flow charts, and as a result the overall product is sort of formulaic. The excess is obvious, the shock-factor isn’t all that shocking, and between the unimaginatively expletive-riddled dialogue and extended close up shots of half naked dancers wielding tommy guns, it feels as though we’re watching a film made by a horny, frustrated fifteen year old starring his mates dads.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s definitely not terrible, it’s just contrived. And for a genus celebrated for its derogative mindlessness and hedonistic rule breaking, there is so much focus on how it should look that it seems no one is really having any fun. Nonetheless, there are amusing moments, with enough blood, boobs and brutality to be sustaining, and the opening credits on their own make the whole film certainly worth a watch, due to a gleefully deranged scene involving nuns, guns and a sharp boot to the vagina that made this reviewer shudder. In fact, I will go as far as saying that I can’t wait for Bikert’s next cinematic endeavour, as Dear God No! is like a promisingly burnished chunk of rock which, in films to come, will polish down to reveal a big ol’ blood-spattered, intestine shrouded diamond. Or something.

Like I said, it’s a definite C. Just next time, Bikert, don’t do so much homework.

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