In this third lustrous jewel in his doomsday crown, Chuck Heston rumbles on as a detective investigating a fishy death along a trail of green cracker crumbs toward one of cinema’s most famous and lampooned climatic revelations. "SOYLENT GREEN IS … !!!" Well, you know. But starving folks in 2022 New York just LOVE whatever colored concoction the omnipresent Soylent Corporation dishes out, even from the massive steel bucket of a front-end loader. Meanwhile, high above the streets, members of the power elite live in luxurious digs with the FINEST of full service "furniture" — such as Leigh Taylor-Young. And in his silver screen swan song, Edward G. Robinson ("Nnnnnn-yah! See!") provides the flick’s soul as a kindly codger who gets to watch home movies from Earth’s lush yesteryears just before having himself Kevorkianed. CineSchlockers will be pleased that Warner has graciously provided a somewhat languid, yet certainly content-rich commentary by director Richard Fleischer and Ms. Taylor-Young. No breasts, although as always, Chuck bares that barrel chest of his again. 118 corpses. Spoon licking. Gratuitous Dick Van Patten cameo. Racking. Bitch slapping. Fall of mankind montage. Gratuitous shower scene. Crowbar to the skull. One human pancake. Thorn is quite the Cassanova: "You’re a helluva piece of furniture!"
