A nightmare of New York City streets swarmed over by hopped-up hooligans who flit and slither like rejects from a West Side Story audition. In effect, this Michael Winner exercise picks up from the baleful curtain line of his previous movie, Stone Killer: "You've got five more minutes, Christians!" Winner strives to keep the action within the small, ill-defined area of justifiable homicide in order to congratulate Charles Bronson, waging war on the entire species that assaulted his wife and daughter, whenever he stamps out one of the insect-like menaces who pester him in conveniently empty streets, parks, subways. It is a definite missed opportunity that the techniques of accosting were not shown in more of their infinite variety. And the mechanisms used to manufacture emotional heat and lather often groan rather noisily. Still, it is fairly intriguing to watch a movie that approaches its editorial points -- on urban-vs.-rural living conditions, on police politics, on gunmanship and the cowboy mentality in America -- with whispery, slippery insinuation. (1974) — Duncan Shepherd
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