Review
The Northville Cemetery Massacre roars out of the 70s like a sawed-off shotgun blast to the conscience. It is part counterculture scream, part blood-soaked revenge tale, and all attitude. This is no sanitized biker romp. It is a ragged, furious howl at authority, filmed in back alleys and on open roads with the gasoline stink of authenticity in every frame. The story is simple but potent. A ragtag biker gang, far from being the villains of the piece, are framed for a crime they did not commit. What follows is a slow-burn spiral of injustice, harassment, and brutality as the corrupt forces of law push them further toward the breaking point. By the time the last reel unspools, the promise of peace is buried in a haze of smoke, fire, and righteous carnage. Shot on a shoestring with the grit of real asphalt and the sweat of non-professional actors, The Northville Cemetery Massacre feels dangerous because it is. The camera never blinks, whether it is capturing the freedom of the open road or the ugliness of state-sanctioned violence. Every police siren wail cuts like a blade, every fight feels like it could spill out of the screen and into your lap. This is exploitation cinema at its most combustible: angry, confrontational, and unafraid to show the world as a broken machine. It is as much a document of outlaw America as it is a movie, with a score that hums like a worn-out CB radio and a finale that leaves nothing standing. The Northville Cemetery Massacre is a requiem for freedom, played at full throttle and with no apologies.