Italian journeyman Antonio Margheriti was capable of much, much more than
this late, late mongrel of a cash-in on the popularity of a veritable pick and mix of Eurocrime preceding it.
Salty former assassin, Yul Brynner is coerced out of retirement for one last Napoli based assignment – affording him the opportunity to take out a personal revenge on the man apparently responsible for the killing of his brother.
Essentially a milder mannered retread of Demicheli’s Ricco The Mean Machine, sans cock lopping, Death Rage lacks the balls, so to speak, to go anywhere or do anything of any real interest. Besides Brynner’s dodgy eyesight, an entertaining horse scam and yet another chance to see poor old Sal Borgese get it, Margheriti concerns himself with an implausible love story sub plot that sees the ever foxy honey pot, Barbara Bouchet, take Brynner out to buy crockery and presumably help him up and down stairs. A brief distraction at best, Death Rage is a crying shame of a film, particularly given it is the Man Who Would be King’s last cinematic venture and similarly because its generally appealing format has been better executed elsewhere. Not long after this wasted opportunity of a film, Margheriti gave up on the urban landscape and skulked off into the jungles.
Death Rage sadly, probably, had something to do with that.