Leave it to schlock director Al Adamson (Satan’s Sadists) to merge the kung-fu and blaxploitation genres with The Dynamite Brothers, marketed as the first movie of its kind to pair a black and Asian lead. Timothy Brown (aka M*A*S*H’s Spearchucker) is Stud Brown, “the black cat from Watts,” while Alan Tang is Larry Chin, “the kung fu cat from Hong Kong.”
No sooner has Chin arrived in San Francisco than he’s handcuffed by the cops to Stud, if only to allow the characters to meet cute and then bond as they escape and run around the woods like so many Defiant Ones.
The duo gets mixed up in a drug war too complicated for the film to adequately explain. Needless to say, the cop after them (Aldo Ray, The Centerfold Girls) is racist and corrupt, and James Hong (Blade Runner) plays a narcotics kingpin who kills his enemies with an acupuncture needle. The final confrontation takes place at Hong’s castle, if only so several henchman can fall from it.
One poor guy gets his scalp ripped off; a mute girl gets her face mutilated with a straight razor; and several honky bitches get naked. Dynamite is more competent than the usual Adamson fare, and comes complete with a groovy, ass-shakin’, jazz-funk soundtrack and a wild, Pop Art, quasi-animated title sequence. —Rod Lott
Even as a kid, I knew 
If nothing else, I would love Krull just for its part in one of my favorite geek jokes of all time, a quick visual gag on TV’s 
A young boy is caught by his mom working on a nudie jigsaw puzzle. She threatens to burn all the porn she finds in his room and asks him to get a trash bag; he returns with an ax and chops her to pieces, digging out a saw for those extra-pesky bones. Then he returns to his puzzle.
Who’s the culprit? Is it the burly groundskeeper? The university’s anatomy professor? The mousy British dean? The killer is mostly cloaked in shadows or shot from the ankles down, yet the gore is indeed gory, with limbs and noggins lopped off before your very eyes. One girl pisses herself before her torso gets cut in two. Following each kill, the murderer retreats to adding more pieces of that nudie puzzle, working his way down from the top. (And here I was always taught to the do the borders first and work inward.)
Before he was the 
Corrupt is one of those psychological cat-and-mouse games where the tables are continually (but not surprisingly) being turned. Unfortunately, when the fortunes shift from Keitel’s character to Lydon’s, the movie grows tiresome (not to mention confusing, as their interaction borders on a homosexual relationship, as does the one between Keitel and his secret live-in cop roomie).