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Set in 1950's New York City, a bad and bloody gang war is about to erupt on the dysfunctional streets of Brooklyn. The Deuces at war with the vicious Vipers. Scott Kalvert directs this tale of lust, drugs, mayhem and madness during one hot summer on the streets.
It not only promotes every stereotype and invokes every cliché of Brooklyn lore, it combines them all into an insulting composite, fuses that to the chrome-and-fins of the pointless Fifties, and then -- weirdly -- pretends it's Shakespeare.
This is a movie that can't say no to a melodramatic opportunity, and whatever verisimilitude inspired Paul Kimatian and Christopher Gambale to write a script based on Kimatian's memories of the gangs has been utterly lost along the way.
A flashback to a heroin casualty on a rain-soaked playground is a crucial visual aid, but any punch-drunk victim of Deuces Wild might prefer the needle to the damage done.
If it was the intention of Kalvert, Gambale and Kimatian to infiltrate their script with every stereotypical hoodlum cliché from every movie covering Brooklyn bad boys, they were on the money. Too bad their movie isn't.
Maybe if the movie had left all the expensive period artifacts, and most of the hackneyed script, on the street corner and let its capable young cast loose, Deuces Wild would have offered the audience a more interesting game.