As demonstrated by Dr. Jack Finney (Lee Gideon, 1988’s D.O.A.) in the prologue, the gadget for which this film is named is a tiny computer chip that, when tucked into the folds of one’s brain, acts as a form of remote control: mind control, to be clear. In fact, Killing Device has the power to “turn people into kamikazes,” according to our hero, intrepid newspaper reporter Kyle (bland Antony Alda, half-brother of Alan), whom we don’t even meet until a third of the film has flickered past.

Before that point, one-time director Paul MacFarlane (cinematographer for shot-on-video slasher The Ripper) layers scene after scene of device-implanted humans — from a ’roided-out Stallone stand-in to an insolent granny — putting senators to the most extreme of term limits. One is shot dead; another is felled by a trick cigar that emits poison gas; yet another is shot while smoking an actual cigar! Kyle investigates, with the assistance of Sara (Gig Rauch, better-known as Gig Gangel, Playboy’s Miss January 1980, in her only acting role), a beautiful woman who happens to be at the wrong place at the wrong time and exists mostly to provide the inevitable, smooth jazz-fueled sex scene with shapely and immodest eye candy.

Packed with silly violence and scenes shot in a strip club just because, the low-budget actioner plays like a production of Andy Sidaris in his prime, only shot in Oklahoma instead of Hawaii or California, and infused with a political conspiracy à la Three Days of the Condor, but narrowed to the length (and depth) of a two-martini lunch. The dialogue is a hoot, particularly in the threats thrown Kyle’s way, from “Find what you’re looking for, fuzz nuts?” to “You better hope that gun’s made of chocolate, asshole, cuz you’re fixin’ to eat it!”

Featuring Return of the Living Dead’s Clu Gulager as Smitty and live music by Flash Terry and the Uptown Blues Band, if you’re into either of those sorts of things. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.