Revenge Of Billy The Kid (1992)

On an island, somewhere off the Cornish coast, there was a farm. On that farm, there was a family; Giles and Gretta MacDonald and their three children; Ronald, Ronald and Ronnie MacDonald. When the family’s goat stops producing milk one day, Gretta orders Giles to take it to the mainland and find it a stud goat to show it a good time and therefore solve the problem. Trouble was; Giles was a lazy man and an alcoholic to boot, so given the option of trekking to the mainland or ‘solving the problem’ himself, he decides on the latter. A little while later and the goat has produced a rather odd looking, some might say half-human, child that daughter Ronnie, names Billy. Billy is accepted by the family as a bizarre kind of pseudo-pet but when he clumsily knocks over Farmer Giles’ alcohol supply, smashing most of the bottles into smithereens, he is shoved into a sack and thrown into the sea, rather unceremoniously. Clearly not one to let things like attempted murder lie, Billy finds his way back to the farm and will stop at nothing until his ‘family’ are no more. Luckily, Ronnie’s mainland-dwelling boy-toy; Lance Allot, riding in on his motorcycle, might just be able to save them!

Revenge Of Billy The Kid was released in 1992, to little fanfare, and has all but disappeared, save for a few rare and extortionately priced copies of the DVD that appear to exist today. Some might say it’s a cult classic, I say that’s a rather grand term for a strange little film of such questionable quality.

Imagine if TV’s rural soap opera Emmerdale and a particularly nasty Troma film had a baby. Now, throw in a dash of Carry On style humour and a sprinkle of Peter Jackson’s Bad Taste-esque gore. That’s about the best description of this flick that I can possibly muster. It’s a catastrophe of unfunny jokes and bad acting but manages to retain a certain unrefined charm. It’s a series of one utterly, stomach-churningly disgusting scene after another and is very, very British. It’s hard to imagine that any other country in the World could produce anything quite like this, which is perhaps a good thing and certainly not a point that one could use when boasting about the achievements of English cinema.

It’s also notable for being Michael Ripper’s last film, although there were several years between this and his death, suggesting that it probably wasn’t the embarrassment that killed him. You could argue that a script that could attract such a famous face from over 25 Hammer Horror films can’t be all bad. You could, but I won’t.

In spite of myself, I laughed on more than one occasion which I can only assume means that my sense of humour is akin to that of a 13 year old boy and not nearly as sophisticated as I’d previously hoped. It’s difficult to say who this flick might appeal to as I’m almost certain it would have audiences split right down the middle into either ‘love it’ or ‘hate it’ categories. Having said that, I didn’t love it but I certainly didn’t hate it so maybe there is some middle ground. If you can stomach 85 minutes of wavering West Country accents, a dab of bestiality and a non-stop barrage of flatulent sound effects, then there are worse ways to spend your time than watching this.

Rating: ★★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆

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