Quentin Tarentino and Robert Rodriguez tried (I'd say, with mixed success) to honor the history of grindhouse movies -- low budget movies shot with gonzo velocities and lots of cleavers & cleavage.<br /><br />What Tarentino and Rodriguez tried to celebrate from their mink-lined, gold-plated director chairs, these guys did all by their loathsome lonesome, and cranked out El Charro. A masterpiece? No - not by a long shot. But, you know, it does have all the hallmarks of grindhouse: barely comprehensible plotting, bizarre riffs from the periphery, cars on desert highways, bad dialog, bad cops, bad bars, some nonsense about curses, babbling priests, buckets of blood, a couple hundred f-bombs, and (duh) topless women.<br /><br />If you're looking for El Charro to introduce you to next round of cinematic genius, you'll be sorely disappointed. But, if you've been hankering for some drive-in quality, B-movie slasher junk -- then why the hell not? <br /><br />(The soundtrack kind of kicks a--, by the way).