Review
Mad Foxes is the kind of celluloid fever dream that grabs you by the throat from the first scene and refuses to let go until you are dizzy, slightly nauseous, and grinning ear to ear. This is Eurotrash at its most feral, a cocktail of sex, sleaze, and savagery that could only have been poured in the grindhouse era. The story? If you can call it that, it is a revenge odyssey that blasts through moral boundaries like a shotgun through a stained-glass window. A mild-mannered man crosses paths with a gang of neo-Nazi bikers, and the result is an escalating chain of sadistic beatdowns, brutal killings, and gratuitous nudity that makes Death Wish look like a Sunday sermon. Mad Foxes does not so much progress as it explodes from one jaw-dropping set piece to the next: leather-clad thugs storming nightclubs, naked martial arts duels in living rooms, and a soundtrack that sounds like your sleaziest uncle's record collection got drunk and started a fight. The violence is cartoonish, the sex is sweaty, and the pacing is like a feverish dream you barely remember but cannot shake. If exploitation cinema is a buffet, Mad Foxes is the dish labeled "Caution: May Contain Everything." It is trash cinema distilled to its raw, unfiltered essence. You will not find restraint here. You will not find subtlety. But you will find the kind of audacious, no-holds-barred mayhem that makes you realize why grindhouse will never die.