Toxie aside, this is the stuff that Troma is famous for: drugs and thugs, babes and boobs, cat fights and cat calls, blood and gore. Cute but mousy Susan happens upon (and is abducted by) a backwoods drug ring that is headed by the maniacal and militant Mongo. Mongo is determined and focused, but his army of dip-s***s, more often than not, louse things up, and herein lies Susan’s greatest advantage.
Susan escapes and then is captured, and then escapes again. Using weapons found in an abandoned wood shed (and a newfound ability to be Rambo-like) Susan commences administering her own special brand of justice. Ten inch roofing nails are slung with deadly accuracy (most of which land directly into her victims’ eyes) and axes to the chest do the bulk of the hulks in, but leader Mongo is another problem altogether. More axes and more nails, and more axes and more nails finally brings the bald headed bruiser down. Susan is free.
“They Call Me Macho Woman” is hardly a piece of brilliant cinema, but it does deliver all that is expected of this type of film. Further, its concise 81 minute running time guarantees that the movie is off and running in short order, and all of the applicable and established contrivances are quickly set into place. Surfing across this at around 3:00 a.m., after the party has started to die down, would be a welcomed find. It’s not the best thing you’ll ever see, but then it’s certainly not the worst either.
