uentin Tarantino once said that to succeed in the film industry, one would have to make their own “Pulp Fiction” or “Reservoir Dogs.” Writer/actor/producer/director Larry Bishop seems to have taken that advice a little too literally with “Hell Ride,” concocting a messy homage that borrows (or steals) heavily in its visuals, music, camerawork, and timeline-hopping storytelling. But to properly mimic a Tarantino film, one has to have a knack for constructing creative conversations; unfortunately, “Hell Ride’s” primary derailing element is its atrocious ramblings and vulgar monologues that only work to disgust and confuse the audience, while also simultaneously invoking pity for the actors involved in this garbage.

The antihero, protagonist biker gang, called the Victors, consists of several weathered vigilantes, who bring their own brand of bloodthirsty justice to the lawless roads. Their leader, Pistolero (Larry Bishop), is hell-bent on revenge and putting out fires. The Gent (Michael Madsen) just tries to balance his chaotic, psychotic symphony of life by pumping lead into anyone who crosses his boss. And Comanche (Eric Balfour) follows along with a fierce loyalty and a mysterious past.

On the villainous front, Deuce (David Carradine) is the mastermind who orchestrates from afar, though not quite far enough to be impervious to harm. And Billy Wings (Vinnie Jones) spits venom and lewd explanations for his tattoos while toting a harpoon gun and a general disdain for life. While these characters might sound interesting on paper, once they’re forced to rant horrendously ill-conceived screeds, all traces of Harley Davidson-cool disappear faster than the funding should for Bishop’s next film (if he ever musters the courage to step behind the camera again).

While “Hell Ride” is riddled with imperfections and missed opportunities, the main facet of its undoing lies in the poorly devised conversations. And because Bishop’s main influences are the talky films of Tarantino, there are a lot of them. The first twenty minutes of the movie is nearly unintelligible and would probably make as much sense if it were muted. By the time Pistolero’s main squeeze is introduced and particular phrases are overused to the point of nausea, viewers will pray for both death (certainly for the cast of miserable characters, if not for themselves as well) and the ability to turn off the sound. Even Dennis Hopper has trouble remaining cool while spouting off such goofy dialogue.

For anyone familiar with the experience of repeating a word or phrase so many times that it just doesn’t sound right or even make sense anymore, it’ll appear as if Bishop started there and then kept the madness going, hoping futilely that his lines would suddenly become understandable again. But it certainly is a fruitless exercise. And when the dialogue does finally take a break, Bishop opts for repetitive shots of nude female oil wrestling and slashed throats, as if the most juvenile, exploitive material will win over crowds.

“Hell Ride” wants to pay homage to Quentin Tarantino films, Robert Rodriguez flicks, and every movie that idolizes the violent and devil-may-care attitudes of shady rebels or stereotypical renegade bikers. But while its intentions may be marketable, the horrendously cringe-worthy discourse and the hyper-stylized, timeline-mangling editing aren’t likely to fool even the most die-hard fans. By the time audiences figure out the mystery behind the characters’ motives (and it may be awhile before anyone realizes there’s even a mystery intended to be solved), it’s just too difficult to care about these generic tough-guy players, their unoriginal interactions, and the copycat tone of the entire project.

– Joel Massie