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Large, portly, hairy Monty has a whole bunch of problems. In addition to being very large, portly, hairy, and socially inept, Monty...
...works as a pizza delivery boy. Every customer on his route is an amazing asshole, and his boss is the most abusive jerkwad in the universe.
...has frequent and extensive nightmares about how his dad murdered his mother before swallowing the barrel of a shotgun.
...just had his car towed by a pair of massive bastards.
...is being sexually harrassed by a sniggering transvestite.
...is jerked around by his snooty psychologist / parole officer / employment agent. (I couldn't figure out what the chick's job was, but she sure did love bossing Monty around.)
...just lost his first and only girlfriend because her brother is a stunning jerk.
So obviously you already know where this schtick is headed: Monty suffers in silence till he can't stands no more, and then he promptly snaps and heads off into the night with a power drill, a hammer, and a bunch of cigars. (Don't ask.)
Indie director Jose Zambrano Cassella (Andre the Butcher) seems to have all the elements in place for a standard-yet-watchable piece of Revenge Horror ... but his flick is consistently undone by the leaden pacing, the goofy dialogue, several outrageously inert acting performances, and a tone that ranges from "bleak and angry" to "snarkily tongue-in-cheek." (One of Monty's victims, with his dying breath, asks "Was it something I said?" -- A line that certainly seems potentially humorous, only it's the flick's very first attempt at intentional humor. Weird.)
Although just about every single performance is cue-card wooden, Matt Nelson does a fairly workmanlike job as the lead sad-sack / eventual murderer. Cassella only gives the guy a few shades to work with (desperate, miserable, hopeful, frustrated, and back to miserable) but he somehow makes for a semi-sympathetic protagonist -- at least until Monty goes ape-wild in the Act III slaughter department. As the only non-heartless character in the entire flick, young Tara Cardinal makes a nice impression, but that's probably because she's the only whiff of humanity in an otherwise angry little movie.
The main problem with Delivery is that it's not even remotely scary. We know from frame one where the flick's headed, Monty's motivations seem paper-thin at best, and the knock-'em-all-off finalé seems more like an assembly line than anything else. Still, it's better than that remake of The Fog.
Video: The flick is presented in a fairly clean widescreen transfer, especially when you consider the thing probably cost about the same as a nice used car.
Audio: The DD 2.0 track is serviceable enough, although several dialogue scenes are inordinately lower than others. Keep the volume button handy.
One of the delivery stops on Monty's route is a large house filled with half-naked young women, several of whom deliver brief moments of soft-core lesbianism. It's never even remotely explained why this house is filled with such mean-spirited and naked women, but this stop does allow for two of Delivery's most hilariously satisfying components: the ridiculously gratuitous nudity -- and a scene involving a dozen half-nude mean girls, a wet lawn, and a car battery.
For more info on Delivery, check the MySpace page.