Yes, the film is even more shoddy looking and just as weirdly compelling as this poster. The Guy from Harlem is a Z-grade imitation of Shaft, which from all appearances could have been directed by alien life forms whose only knowledge of human culture comes from Blaxploitation. In a way, it was, since helmsman Rene Martinez, Jr. was an emigrant, working with a crew of other foreign expatriates in the Miami area, poorly directing a screenplay written by a 12 year old. You know you’re in for something special when the first scene involves a thug  menacing captive sister Wanda so unconvincingly, so ineptly, that the man had to be a non-actor picked up off the street Herzog style. At one point, when he must dole out a useless story-related nugget, he pauses midway through mumbling his line to read the rest of the line off his arm. The scene ends with Wanda calling him a “jive-ass fool” or somesuch nonsense, to which he replies “You sorry bitch, I’ll see you later,” without the slightest hint of conviction, walking out very calmly.

Then the character is never heard from again.

Anyway, there’s this P.I. workin’ the streets of Miami they call The Guy from Harlem. As you can see from his sepia-tinted poster, he’s “mean, clean, a fightin’ machine.” According to his theme song, this cat’s a “bad dude”. This glorious(ly bad) tune also gives us bits of info like “Get down!”, “Check out the groove!” and “Feel the rumba!” so he probably likes dancing, too. One thing’s for sure, he loves to avoid work, bitch at his secretary, get in very strangely choreographed dances/fights, and screw strange women in his girlfriend’s ugly-ass apartment. As played by Loye Hawkins, the Guy is actually a colossal, skinny, horny dick (in more than one sense) who never fails to act selfishly or cowardly. He also excels at sousing up the ladies with J&B whiskey, then slow-dancing to muzak before plowing into home base. When he isn’t overtly admiring the derrière of said base.

The first half of the story deals with The Guy protecting an African princess (with a Brooklyn accent) from incompetent stooges hired by the shadowy forces of “Big Daddy”.  His peeping tom-ism comes in handy during the first attempt, coming in just in time to prevent a masseuse from administering a mysterious dose of… something from a syringe. He gives her a $2 tip for her trouble. Next, he orders room service (in agonizing real time), then punches out the cross-dressing goon who delivers nothing but failure on an empty platter. We learn The Guy can “smell a New York strip steak a block away”. Because he’s from New York, you see. The next two dudes are less subtle, barging into the Pumpkin Orange Eyesore Suite without knocking. The Guy is there to dance/grapple/psyche them out. He gets the final holdout to submit by standing very lightly on the dude’s wrist. The thug cries “Ah, ah, ah!!” while the rest of his body remains paralyzed. Then, that laugh is topped by the film’s attempt at a badass one liner:

“You tell Big Daddy nobody fools with The Guy from Harlem, you dig?”

Tragically, we remain unaware of what occurs after the princess is shunted off to the Girlfriend’s Gaudy Apartment for a night of some very mild sensuality. In spite of some foreshadowing about “international repercussions”, there are no consequences for screwing the married wife of a political figure, just some strange inferences from The Guy to his much-abused secretary. “I nearly got my head blown off!” Whatever, on to Wanda and the inevitable screwing.

This thrilling second half is even more entertaining due to the inclusion of “Wildman” Steve Gallon as Wanda’s father, a coke dealer with a silver tongue to match his indubitable self-righteousness. A gifted improvisational comic with charisma to burn, Steve steals the show even though he appears in but two scenes.  Martinez would work with him later to develop the priceless Six Thousand Dollar Nigger. He hires The Guy to deliver $250,000 in cash, plus a cool half-million bucks’ worth of snow, to Big Daddy as part of a hostage exchange deal. You know how those Honkys prefer to carry out their business.  But The Guy’s smarter than the three dim-bulbs, presumably hired out of a homeless shelter or detox clinic, assigned to guard Wanda; he takes ‘em down guerrilla style! Mean! Clean! A dancin‘ Fightin’ machine!!

Actually he just hides in the bushes, waits for each person to walk by, proceeds to “fight” them, then drags the unconscious body into the overgrowth. We see this process carried out in real time, with each goon moronically walking into the trap and getting “beaten”, furiously intercut with Wanda screaming “How come 4 o’clock ain’t pass yet”. Yeah, it’s fairly surreal. It also goes on for a long time, way longer than necessary, and there’s still 20 minutes to go once The Guy peels out with Wanda in his huge boxy sedan. Destination: The Shag Pad.

One important thing about the “sex”: in spite of the usual breast exposure, and a horrifying moment where The Guy strips down to his skivvies, it never gets beyond second base, and there’s always an awkward fade-to-black when Martinez, in a rare instance of humility, discovers he can’t direct a love scene. Likewise the camera work, from some foreigner named Rafael Remy, swims around in a too-tight closeup in a rare instance of not being more than ten feet away from the action. Also, students of cinematography will cringe during this super smooth J&B muzak seduction.

Even if the dual light sources don’t bother you, surely the art direction will never fail to distract you from the non-action of The Guy from Harlem. It is so tacky that it becomes sort of brilliant in a way that imitations like Black Dynamite can only dream of emulating. Besides the terrible 16mm photography, pervasive Afros and disco leisurewear, the repetition of the theme song never fails to get a laugh, even if (or perhaps because) it is played at least a dozen times. It never fails to fail to establish the hero’s status as a badass to stand with John Shaft. Anyway, after stealing Steve’s money (in a passive aggressive way) and his daughter, The Guy goes after Big Daddy, who is a rather muscular embodiment of The Man.

Would you be the least bit surprised to learn Big Daddy is also is a student of The Guy’s school of Western Style Awkward Kickboxing and Grappling? Well, he is, and he has the armbands to prove it! Oh, SPOILER ALERT, if spoilers can even apply to something so hilariously derivative. The Guy From Harlem doesn’t have a narrative, so much as it fulfills a series of requirements through inept imitation. Yet it’s wildly entertaining and there are countless classic lines that I wouldn’t dare spoil for the uninitiated. It succeeds in all the wrong ways.

For curious souls, armed with this foreknowledge (and, preferably, some cheap malt liquor): some enterprising spirit has uploaded the entire film, and now The Guy from Harlem can be streamed direct, to your sloshed brain, in a matter of seconds! Just click the link below. Though I’ll never replace my battered Xenon VHS tape, this is a much less plastic-intensive alternative, even if the image quality takes quite a few hits from its already dubious source. Enjoy (with all the obvious caveats)!

GET DOWN!!

Tags: loye hawkins, rene martinez, the guy from harlem, wildman steve

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