Fury is a film that aspires to be a bloody, sexploitation flick and only gets halfway there. The half that does make it is destined to make Fury a cult classic in the local film circles, but what it has in terms of sex and violence is nowhere near what the narrative demands.

Hell hath no fury, the old cliché begins. I’m sure you know the rest. For Laney (Marie Madison), an aging female professional, that saying was never as true as when she fell hard for a twenty-something boy toy named Michael (James Xavier). The rules were set at the beginning that it was nothing more than a sex thing. Laney, however, goes crazy with jealousy every time a woman is near Michael. The bodies begin to pileup until we find out how crazy Laney really is.

It’s frustrating waiting for those bodies to pile up. Through this badly paced exposition, expecting that something will happen is the worst thing you can do. As you wade through the film’s first half, it only gets tougher. The listlessness is best illustrated in an Erie-centric credit sequence that is too long, too uneventful, and doesn’t seem to exist on the same planet as the rest of the film.

The acting, too, is out of this world. I rarely mention acting when reviewing a production like Fury, but most of the film’s problems could have been solved with a simple second take. That’s not too much to ask at all from a DV production. Lines are stumbled through, with blatant gaffes like mispronouncing Perrier water or “all intents and purposes.” Only James Xavier seems spontaneous and at the same time practiced, which makes him a standout in a badly acted film.

What is the good news? The good news is that there is enough sex and blood to make diehard exploitation film fans happy. The dialogue and narration at times feels like its straight from an erotica book and is read like the actors are in porno film, only adding to an image the filmmakers’ seemingly intended to create. Fury appears to know its role unlike truly bad films (I Spit on Your Grave or Soultaker, for example), and that makes an otherwise excruciating experience tolerable.

With the criticism I dish out above, I can a least suggest the one thing that will make Fury into a great movie: a drinking game. Drink every time someone isn’t fully dressed. Drink every time you see a nipple. Do a shot when the actors screw up a line. Oh, and chug for the entire length of a Laney ramblings. That would make one hell of a night at the movies. Considering that this film will be shown at 1 a.m. on a Saturday night (Sunday morning), I would imagine most people who are attending are already way ahead of me on this one.