Who’s the black private dick that’s a sex machine to all the chicks? Wait. I was just talkin’ ’bout Shaft. Better shut my mouth. This, alongside that and Coffy, completes blaxpolitation’s stellar triumvirate with a super-fly score and a star with the threads to match. On the streets, they call him "Priest," but to his elders, Ron O’Neal‘s deliriously C-O-O-L and ambitious pusherman is affectionately dubbed "Youngblood." Though his ambition isn’t that of more bling-bling or bed beauties, rather it’s to escape the only game the man’s left him with — one — last — score. CineSchlockers should rerun the flick straightaway for a schoolin’ by film and pop culture guru Dr. Todd Boyd whose equal parts riveting, entertaining and illuminating insights are easily akin to those of Joe Bob Briggs (I Spit on Your Grave) or Roger Ebert (Dark City). Three breasts. One corpse. Puking. Thug thrashing. Kung fu fighting. Endurance foot race. One spectacularly soapy hiney. Copious coke snorting. Priest’s right-hand man aims high: "You’re gonna give all this up? 8-track stereo, color TV in every room and can snort a half a piece of dope every day? That’s the American dream, ni@#a! Ain’t it? Ain’t it?"
