The idea of a gang of modern-day motorcyclists living by the chivalric code, jousting with one another from the seats of their Harleys, conjures up visions of some sort of Monty Python lunacy: a band of born-again Hell's Angels, coat of arms tattoed on their biceps, taking up the lance of Don Quixote and tilting at oil pumps in Venice, California. But no. George Romero, far from making this movie too whimsical, has made it altogether too plausible (and at two and a half hours, altogether too long). His bikers, not so much suitable subjects for a Monty Python skit as for a Real People profile, have parlayed their escapist tendencies into a profitable business venture, a travelling Medieval Faire modelled along the lines of a Wild West show. And the practicality of the set-up squelches most of the mythic and comic possibilities. (1981) — Duncan Shepherd
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