A radio DJ conveniently named DJ Miller is at risk for being squelched after his flame-emblazoned motorcycle is, unbeknownst to him, “borrowed” to steal a shipment of dope belonging to local drug kingpin Supermack (Lou Walker, 1979’s The Visitor). Presumably named after Super Fly, this gangster looks like that blaxploitation icon on a Whataburger Patty Melt diet.
In between ducking Supermack’s jive-talking henchmen and deposits of dynamite, Miller stops to aid a stranded female motorist. She offers to pay, but Miller refuses cash; instead, he says he’ll take it out in trade, and forces her into some backseat bangin’. Mind you, this is played for laughs. Also mind you, the woman is Supermack’s best gal, thus further enraging the smack slinger.
Al Adamson regular Geoffrey Land (Blazing Stewardesses) has no charisma as Miller, who hops around the clubs and beds of Charlotte, North Carolina, like he’s King Shit. Dude, he’s a DJ. And it’s not like we’re talking Wolfman Jack territory here. IRL, Mr. Miller would be appearing at an appliance store’s “everything must go” inventory sale, then doing spokesman duty on an UHF TV commercial for a roofing company, and maybe introducing the sneak preview of Silver Streak at the twin-screen bijou.
From Summerdog director John Clayton, the hicksploitation obscurity Redneck Miller is most likely to find favor with those who delight seeing a honky outsmart a bunch of Black guys for 90 minutes. It’s pretty dull. You really have to be into banjos, slide whistles, ahooga horns, canary-yellow bedsheets, floral-print couches, stars-and-stripes trucks, astrological necklaces, shag carpets as wall art, pool halls with Elton John posters, canned Schlitz, fake tits and those rock-hard stuffed animals people “win” at carnivals. In other words, not I. —Rod Lott