Courier of Death’s antihero protagonist, J.D., carries a .44 Magnum, but don’t confuse him with arguably the movies’ most iconic cop. J.D. taunts criminals with lines like, “Go ahead, I’m gonna blow big holes in both your legs,” which isn’t as terse, pointed or quotable as “Go ahead, make my day.” Plus, he looks like the dumpier, dumber, less sociable kid brother of Tackleberry from the Police Academy saga.
In other words, he’s no Dirty Harry. “Unkempt J.D.” is more like it.
As played by some doughy dope named Joey Johnson, J.D. and his partner, Frank (Bill Hupfer), are shepherding a detonator-wired briefcase containing $76 million in bonds when bad guys attack. Frank is shot dead in the hubbub. Soon after, J.D.’s homely wife (Joan Becherich) gets murdered as well, leaving our denim-jacketed do-gooder to take down “the organization” behind it, via the only way he can: Acting like a ill-tempered toddler who hasn’t yet the mastered the art of the put-down. Not that his opponents hold an advantage …
Bar Thug: “You think you’re hot shit, don’tcha?”
J.D.: “Yeah!”
Bar Thug: “But you’re dog meat.”
J.D.: “And you’re a miserable little fuck!“
Like all the “grieving” husbands you see on Dateline, J.D. bounces back from the loss of his wife like a handball against brick. The new object of his affection, if you can call what he exhibits as such an emotion, is her friend Kate (Barbara Garrison). She demands to chauffeur J.D. around, which he begrudgingly puts up with because Kate, unlike his wife, is hot.
But also being a blonde — ergo, dumb — Kate falls for the ol’ knock-at-the-door trick, answering it without looking or thinking, despite the ever-present threat of death hanging over them. It’s yet another example of Courier of Death’s misogynist streak, none more repellent than this exchange:
Sexy-ish Woman, I Guess: “Don’t you care to drink with the lady?”
J.D.: “I don’t see one. All I see is a greedy slut!”
Shot in Oregon, Courier of Death feels like an ego vehicle á la GetEven or Kick to Death: Death Kick, except Johnson isn’t the creative force behind the movie. That’d be pornographer Tom Shaw, which explains just about everything. —Rod Lott