MAXIM XUL (1991)
Adam West was a real-life superhero, a stouthearted, fire-eating son of a bitch. He may have been more gallant than Batman. Maxim Xul proves as much, but it also proves that he was not God. This flick could have been salvaged if West was given a meatier role, but that's asking too much of a mortal man. No one wants that kind of responsibility. What is this soggy, adulterated discharge about? I don't know. There is a rash of murders, see? A detective and a photojournalist consolidate efforts to reconnoiter (make no mistake, I only used that windbag word because it makes me hard) the grisly scenes. It's just boring "police procedural" stuff.
There is diddly-twat in the nudity department despite the ineffectual admittance of a slutty defense attorney who loses neither her head nor her threads. Everything disappoints. West appears on-screen for a total of maybe ten minutes. He serves as Mr. Exposition, although he does a futile job of explaining why a demon (Babylonian, I believe) is bent on dispatching these nobodies. To Maxim Xul's credit, the rascal fiend looks cool in a no-budget Halloween party kind of way. I'd give the creature effects supervisor a fist bump, but here again, screen time is a matter of contention. We get a glimpse of the thing during the last minute of the film. Who thought this was a sound idea? Most likely, it was NOT Adam West.
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