Father Jozsef (Robert Bronzi) has a no-nonsense approach to his faith that has seen him clash with the priesthood and the police alike, but recently his actions have been the final straw. After administering last rites to a gunshot victim in the street at night, he demanded to know where the killer had gone, and gave chase through the darkness until he caught up with him. After a bout of hand to hand combat, he knocked the killer down and drew a gun, shooting the criminal in the leg and asking whether he was repenting - the cops interrupted this display, and Jozsef was regarded as disgraced by his boss, Bishop Canelo (Steven Berkoff).
However, there is a case in the English countryside that appears to be tailor made for the errant holy man... Not content with posing as Charles Bronson in cheapo action flicks, Robert Bronzi was now posing as Max von Sydow in a career turn that sounded like a radical departure, yet given the way his man of the cloth went about God's work, maybe it was not quite as surprising as you might expect. What he was here was the star of a tiny budget horror that posited, what if Death Wish was crossed with The Exorcist? And as Bronzi bore a fairly close resemblance to Bronson, ultra-prolific genre directors and producers Scott Jeffrey and Rebecca Matthews could have a bit of straight-faced fun with the prospect.
Though the fact most of this took place in someone's suburban living room made it appear less a throwback to Pete Walker horrors of the nineteen-seventies, and more a selection of corner-cutting choices. For some reason a down on his luck Steven Berkoff was here too, in full costume as the Bishop (not the one from Monty Python) and popping up occasionally to exchange indignant dialogue with the real star. Unfortunately, the Hungarian Bronzi was somewhat difficult to understand what with his heavy accent; sometimes you got what he was on about, other times another take would have been wise, but seemingly a shade too expensive for this film's slender means.
The real plot took the form not of the priest hunting down perps on the mean streets of Surrey, but infiltrating a family whose matriarch, after going senile, breathed her last by transferring the demon within her to the home help Magda (Anna Liddell). She acts very strangely, the family call in Jozsef, and I'll bet you can't guess what course of action he suggests. Exorcists had become as familiar a horror character as the vampires, werewolves or Frankenstein's Monster of old by this point, across a range of budgets, and despite the struggles with his lines, Bronzi at least looked the part had, say, Michael Winner persuaded Bronson to essay the role of a priest. Not everyone in the family is happy to see him, especially when his shenanigans contrive to kill off Magda and he asks that the death be brushed under the carpet (!), and soon the body count is increasing, with a twist on the way as to the actual culprits.
This would be largely indistinguishable from umpteen similar projects in its price range, often from these directors, had it not been for Bronzi, who though no actor was able to bring a gonzo quality to whatever he was recruited for. Another intriguing name in the credits was former director Mark L. Lester of Commando fame, here in a producer's capacity, though aside from lending his name to this precisely what he performed was a mystery, as despite a couple of American accents it was clearly British. At least it upheld one venerable screen tradition of good girls being blonde and bad girls being brunette, but most of the entertainment value stemmed from Bronzi in his dog collar getting into fist fights, downing tumblers of Scotch or brandishing his firearm. Daft, but not a dead loss for microbudget addicts who like to pretend long gone stars can live on forever, not through CGI but through looky-likeys. Music by Mike Ellaway.
[EXORCIST VENGEANCE
Available on Digital and DVD Feb 8, 2022.]
