'Galaxy Raiders' (2017) - Mark Steven Grove.

 

I have little doubt, 'Galaxy Raiders' (2017) greatest appeal may well be for those Trash-Movie-addled individuals that still actively support the terrific lunacy of Troma films, bark vociferously at Full Moon Productions and get still nerd-nodules at the merest mention of maverick, zero-buck, space bug impresario Don Dohler's exquisitely autistic, 'Alien Factor', and spend too much of their free time happily extolling the hilariously over-earnest, heartfelt travails of psychotronic icon, Ed Wood Jr. And let us socially diminished, junk-movie mavens be more than thankful that the dark destroyer Kathleen Kennedy was nowhere near the darn likeable 'Galaxy Raiders, as I have the distinct feeling, that, given the profound limitations, stalwart writer/director, Mark Steven Grove, pretty much, made the film he set out to, and that of itself is an entirely laudable endeavour in our increasingly dour epoch of snarky internet dictators and their ceaselessly self-promoting, abject mockery. Objectively, the lacklustre, poorly written script, penurious CGI, and fairly risible Radio Shack-enhanced interiors will, sadly, put many potential viewers off, especially those complacent gluttons weaned predominantly on the facile grandiosity of Roland Emmerich and Michael Bay, but Z-movie film appreciation is still a robustly democratic affair, and, thus, in these sadly ever decreasing circles it is okay to like clunky, wonderfully unsophisticated films like 'Galaxy Raiders'. 

 

This is certainly no backhanded compliment, since this is resolutely a 'good' 'bad movie', and certainly no less endearing than fellow no-budget, spaced-out iconoclasts, Norman J. Warren's sublimely silly 'Inseminoid', William Sach's 'ditsy-disco-Day-Glo', 'Galaxina', and the David Decoteau's cult classic 'Creepozoids'; the fundamental difference being in tonality, since this is quite plainly a softer-edged, more family-orientated space opera, and while heroically handsome Casper Van Dien's, apparently disgraced, serially sword slashing captain doesn't cuss, is unrealistically aloof from any lady's pulchritudinous charms, apparently sublimating hidden lusts by energetically dispatching the myriad alien/mutants in such a bloodlessly adroit fashion, Casper does, and this is, perhaps, the most pertinent part, his swarthy, gravel-voiced, space adventurer, Saber Rainer, has his very own catchphrase, and THAT is why 'Galaxy Raiders' rocks harder than you do, dude!

'We got dropped off the Rammstein tour for being too metal, so check yerself!'

'Engage the Inseminoid device!'

'For glistering galactic fashions the whole family can enjoy just dial 01-876-SUPA-GAYE!

'Don' needs no wings to fly, you're trippin' monster bawlz dawg!'

'Are you the butt-lunch that wrote 'Rogue One'?' 

'I wanted the rifle in navy blue, but it was a take it or leave it kinda' deal!'

'The little red dots are purely cosmetic, and we can barely see out of this schmendrick masks, your move, tough guy'

'I got another head that's even shinier, baby

'Smoke and mirrors, the inside is wall-to-wall Radio Shack, dude!'

'What are you going to sing for us, earth-man?'