Gringo (1989)
Cast: Mussarat Shaheen, Badar Munir, Neimat Sarhadi, Liaqat
Director: Saeed Ali Khan
Synopsis: Lurid rape scenes, comic book violence, filth and twisted morals...the usual!
Review by Omar Ali Khan

In time-honoured tradition, the film opens with a marauding hood and his cronies descending upon some hapless old fogey's shack in search of a nubile young daughter and child to "enjoy". The old man is tossed aside and, within barely two minutes of the opening credits, we are treated to scenes of a woman being beaten and hurled around by assorted henchmen as they prepare for the inevitable gang rape.

Amidst all this familiar mayhem, the audience is also rewarded with a quite spectacular burst of Tom Savini-style gore when the child is brutally impaled on a rusty metal spear. Not a bad start.

Then, just as the curvaceous young daughter has scampered through the rainstorm (which has conveniently rendered her clothes completely see-through) and is about to be devoured by the lead hood, a masked saviour bursts onto the scene swinging a truly fearsome weapon. He carries three enormous iron balls rather than the customary pair, each one bristling with vicious steel spikes. It is an awe-inspiring piece of armour, and before long the terrified goons are fleeing from the onslaught of his mighty balls.

The girl is rescued, and the mysterious masked warrior turns out to be Pushto cinema's beloved superhero, Badar Munir. Like every decent girl who has suffered the shame of an attempted rape, there is, of course, only one honourable option available to her: suicide.

The distraught beauty promptly leaps into the nearest stream of ankle-deep water, catching Badar completely off guard. He dives in after her and, although the situation appears hopeless, drags her safely back to shore before administering one of the most bizarre examples of cinematic first aid ever committed to celluloid.

Gringo presses and rubs all the appropriate areas, but the beauty remains stubbornly unresponsive. Suddenly, a sagely celestial voice booms from above to remind him that, according to impeccable medical science, the only thing capable of saving her from certain death is... heat.

Gringo knows only one way to provide that life-saving warmth in the middle of a rain-drenched jungle.

The film then wanders off in every conceivable direction, introducing a bewildering assortment of characters along the way. The notorious Changaizi gang threatens mayhem across the province, while an earnest young police inspector pursues them relentlessly. Assisting him is his lawyer girlfriend, who somehow finds time between hectic court appearances to shake a remarkably impressive posterior.

Eventually we meet Mussarat Shaheen, playing a fiercely dedicated policewoman with an axe (or perhaps an ass) to grind. She almost wipes out the Changaizi gang single-handedly and succeeds in throwing the chief villain into prison, although he naturally escapes soon afterwards.

When not dispensing justice, our Mussy can usually be found frolicking through the countryside with her equally well-endowed companions in yet another conveniently timed rainstorm. The director wisely outfits every voluptuous beauty in flesh-coloured bodysuits which, once soaked through, create the irresistible illusion that everyone is gloriously stark naked. It is a technique perfected over decades by the visionary auteurs of Frontier cinema.

What follows is an endless parade of lingering close-ups devoted to panty lines, crevices, cracks, bulges, jiggles, lumps and bumps, often photographed so microscopically that it becomes almost impossible to determine precisely which part of the anatomy the camera is admiring. Usually, one can make an educated guess.

After overcoming countless obstacles, Gringo finally joins forces with the dashing police inspector in an attempt to bring down the Changaizi gang once and for all. To accomplish this, they enlist the considerable talents of voluptuous police siren Mussarat Shaheen.

The ensuing fight scenes are among the film's undeniable highlights, particularly those featuring Mussy herself. She appears perfectly capable of pulverising villains through the sheer force of her backside alone before flattening the survivors beneath one of her many generous layers of blubber. A magnificent assortment of exaggerated sound effects and echo-laden punches accompanies every encounter. Exhilarating stuff. After all, could one reasonably expect anything less from the creators of the immortal Haseena Atom Bomb?

Unfortunately, Gringo never quite generates the same breathless momentum. Endless songs repeatedly bring proceedings to a grinding halt, and after the colourful introduction of its assorted cast, the film settles into an exhausting cycle of dance routines, rape scenes and extended fight sequences, all repeated several times before concluding with one final orgy of bloodshed.

We never really discover why our hero is called Gringo, although he dresses like a time-displaced cowboy, which perhaps explains something... or perhaps nothing at all. Despite the endless close-ups of human anatomy and the seemingly compulsory rain-soaked gyrations, this remains one of the tamest Pushto productions we've encountered so far.

Even so, it remains a gloriously grotesque experience—every bit as tasteless and cheap as one has come to expect... and secretly admire. There is, however, one crowning moment of sheer genius. In what can only be described as an affectionate homage to I Spit on Your Grave, Mussy produces a pair of rusty garden shears and performs emergency surgery upon a rapist's private parts. It is a scene destined to warm the hearts of connoisseurs everywhere.

Badar delivers another of his effortless performances. He gives the distinct impression of wandering directly from one film set to the next without ever bothering to learn which character he is supposed to be playing. Most of them are entirely interchangeable anyway, differing only in name—if even that.

Meanwhile, Mussy resembles a mutant in the final stages of pregnancy.

In other words... absolutely breathtaking.

Although the film boasts genuine star power, a wonderfully ridiculous title and several memorably sleazy moments, it never reaches the delirious heights of Shock Maar or some of the more unhinged Frontier productions we've endured. The production values are practically nonexistent, while the direction displays a level of glorious incompetence that borders upon abstract art.

It's a truly dreadful film—but also an oddly fascinating one. Depending upon your disposition, it's either an inspired party movie or one of the cruellest torture devices ever inflicted upon an unsuspecting audience.

Typical Pushto mayhem, then—utterly surreal in its awfulness.

One final observation: it rains during every single song in every single Pushto film, even when the blazing sunshine in the surrounding scenes suggests otherwise. Apparently, without torrential rain, the desired erotic effect simply cannot be achieved.