When 9 Deaths of the Ninja hit theaters, I was 14 and, thus, too young to get in. I was visiting family in Kansas City, Mo., at the time, so while my cousin went to this, my younger brother and I made do with F/X elsewhere in the multiplex. Afterward, we asked how Ninja was, and all he could talk about was seeing this woman have her bikini ripped off underwater. He was a horny virgin at the time.

Now that I’ve seen it, the nudity is about the last thing I would impart to others, because this Philippines-lensed Crown International affair is among the decade’s hokiest action spectacles. Good ol’ Shô Kosugi plays Spike Shinobi, the strong, silent type of ninja. The James Bond-style credits sequence depicts a shirtless Kosugi slinging his sword as three ’80s skank hussies do interpretive dance around him and a cloud of dry ice.

Anyway, a tour group to Volcano Island is taken hostage by nondescript bad guys doing the bidding of the aptly named Alby the Cruel (Blackie Dammett), who’s confined to a wheelchair, wears fingerless gloves and strokes his pet monkey. His hostages — “such a pitiful group!” — include a Congressman, a girl on heart meds, and Kosugi’s two real-life sons, one of whom lights a would-be rapists’ ass on fire.

With the help of two American agents, Spike tosses his stars to take down all the villains, including the Amazonian woman named Honey Hump (Regina Richardson). There are a lot of whores in this movie, too (“My girls are sanitized, sterilized and lobotomized,” promises one madam), but no sex. Spoiler alert: In the last scene, Alby is thrown from his wheelchair, only to be trampled by horses during a polo match, then everyone enjoys lollipops. —Rod Lott

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