It’s crazy to think one movie studio in the 1980s could go from breakdancing on cardboard… to ninjas in neon… to arm-wrestling philosophy… to Chuck Norris saving the world… to a chainsaw-fueled fever dream that felt like it was shot inside a demented haunted funhouse? That studio was Cannon Films… and tonight, Cannon goes BIG… and very loud. Welcome to Friday Night Rentals, where we don’t just watch movies, we rewind history and occasionally ask, “How did this get approved… and why do I love it?”
What’s up everybody, I’m Anthony, and this is Friday Night Rentals: the series where we crack open the video store time capsule, grab the loudest box on the shelf, and hit play like it’s 2AM with a microwave burrito that’s still half-frozen in the middle.
This time, we’re diving into the glorious, chaotic, absolutely unstoppable world of Cannon Films. And if you grew up wandering the VHS aisles, you definitely remember that Cannon logo. It’s the mark of a very specific promise. “Will this movie be classy?” Probably not. “Will it be fun and memorable?” Oh, absolutely. And to me Cannon was one of the very few studios that treated the 1980s like an all-you-can-eat buffet. Action, horror, dance movies, weird genre mashups, and stars doing the most heroic thing imaginable: showing up and still committing even after reading the script. So, grab your snacks, adjust the tracking, and let’s get into it.
Here’s a quick Cannon Films crash course for those in need. You could say during the 1980s, Cannon was like the friend who walked into the family 4th of July barbecue and whispered to you that he has a righteous haul of illegal fireworks in the trunk of his car while nodding and grinning at you like shit is about to get blown up either on purpose, or by accident, or both.
Cannon wasn’t trying to be subtle. They were trying to be creative, memorable, and entertaining. In as many genres as possible. Their superpower was that they could turn a wild idea into a movie poster overnight, then somehow convince legit stars to appear in it. So as a studio Cannon lived in that sweet spot between “We shouldn’t” and “We already did.” They made films that felt like they were designed to pop off the VHS shelf: bold titles, big faces, bigger taglines, and a level of confidence that could power a small city.
And the best part? Even when the movies were messy, they were rarely boring. And to me Cannon’s 80s output is basically a time capsule of the era’s most lovable chaos. Loud soundtracks, bigger-than-life heroes, and stories that go for it with the sincerity of a kid playing with action figures on the living room carpet. So that’s the vibe for this series: we’re celebrating the fun Cannon, the wild Cannon, the how-did-this-get-made-but-I’m-glad-it-did Cannon. All of it. So, let’s hit play on tonight’s list.
Breakin (1984)
Rewatching Breakin’ these days feels like opening a time capsule from mid-80s Los Angeles, all neon glow and synth-driven momentum. It’s definitely a little corny, and the story is simple, but that’s part of why it works. The movie understands its assignment: spotlight the dancing, ride the music, and capture a very specific moment when breakdancing felt like it was taking over the world.
Now I was a kid in LA right when this hit, living in a cul-de-sac where we’d “breakdance” in the street on a busted refrigerator box like we were auditioning for “Club MTV”. So, watching Turbo glide around again hits that sweet spot of nostalgia, and it also reminds you how much of the film’s appeal is physical performance. Michael “Boogaloo Shrimp” Chambers and Adolfo “Shabba-Doo” Quiñones bring a real authenticity and charisma, and Lucinda Dickey gives the movie a likable center that keeps it from feeling like only a dance showcase.
Cannon also struck gold here. On roughly a $1.2M budget, the movie pulled in around $38.7M, a legit box-office mini-sensation for a dance flick that moves like a music-video collage. It even beat Sixteen Candles opening weekend and helped kick off a wave so big Cannon rushed a sequel out just seven months later. Something you do not see often. Despite the audience appeal, critics were lukewarm at best. In his review Vincent Canby said it has a “story intended to be functional” but it “interrupted the dancing far too often”.
And while that may be somewhat true Breakin’ still maneuvered at a brisk pace and kept the music and dance as the focus as much as possible. The soundtrack was also a big part of the impact too: the theme “Breakin’… There’s No Stopping Us” cracked the Billboard Hot 100 Top 10. And yes, the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it Jean-Claude Van Damme background cameo still plays like a fun little VHS-era Easter egg. So bottom line on Breakin’. It’s a fun relic and a strong snapshot of the 80s dance-movie moment, and it still makes you want to push the coffee table back, even if your back and old joints quickly vote “no.” Alright, we’ve had the boombox bliss and the cardboard-dance-floor glory. Now let’s pivot into something tighter and more intense, where the style gets darker, the stakes get sharper, and the dress code turns aggressively black.
Revenge of the Ninja (1983)
Next up in 1983’s Revenge of the Ninja Shô Kosugi drops into peak Cannon mode as Cho Osaki, a family man trying to go legit in America until the same ninjas who killed his family pull him back into violence. The setup is simple and effective: a fresh start gets shattered, and Cho is forced to become the thing he’s trying to leave behind. Perfect action movie bones.
What makes the film work is its clarity of purpose. It’s not trying to be complicated; it’s built as a clean revenge narrative that keeps pushing Cho into escalating confrontations. The pacing is brisk, the tone is serious enough to give the action some weight, and the movie consistently finds ways to stage fights that feel inventive within Cannon’s scrappy style. The intended Los Angeles but actual Salt Lake City backdrop is also part of the fun, because it grounds the story in a recognizable setting while the movie introduces a world where ninjas can appear at any moment launching fire, and nobody seems too shocked.
It’s not elegant in a glossy, studio-polished way, but it’s energetic and memorable. Reported budget is around $700,000, and it earned roughly $13.2M domestically, which is an impressive result for a hard-leaning genre picture like this. This was another case of audiences being entertained and critics for the most part rolling their eyes. In his review with the NYTimes Lawrence Van Gelder called it a “sadistic, bloody, foul-mouthed action movie” and I don’t know about you but that’s a compliment in my book even if it wasn’t intended as such.
In Revenge of the Ninja, Kosugi is quiet and unrestrained as the centerpiece. He has a controlled intensity and physical precision that sells the character as both a father and a trained killer, and the action benefits from how clearly the film lets you read his movement. Now, in terms of pop culture, this is pure VHS-era ninja mythology, one of the films that helped lock the “ninja boom” into the 80s lexicon. It’s also the second entry in Cannon’s loose “Ninja” run. Kosugi was far more popular and believable that Franco Nero in Enter the Ninja, and in one would cement Kosugi as one of the era’s signature big-screen ninjas. Alright, now we’ve lived in the shadows long enough. Next up, we step into something bigger, brighter, and more openly crowd-pleasing, the kind of 80s spectacle that plays like a mainstream event movie. Even if the premise sounds completely insane on paper.
Over the Top (1987)
Next up is 1987’s Over the Top where Stallone’s long-haul trucker Lincoln Hawk tries to reconnect with his son while chasing a shot at legitimacy through the unexpectedly intense world… of competitive arm wrestling. It’s a father-son melodrama that keeps pivoting into a Vegas-style sports-movie showcase and it’s about as ‘80s as ‘80s movies get.
What makes the movie work is how committed it is to its own heightened reality. The plot is undeniably soap operatic, but the film frames arm wrestling like a major-league spectacle, giving it a pro-wrestling vibe where every match feels like a personal grudge and every opponent is introduced like a final boss. Some drank Gatorade, and some motor oil. So, the tone is big and ridiculous, but it’s consistent, and that consistency is why it becomes so easily watchable.
Financially, it was a big swing: the budget is often listed around $25M. $12M of which went to Stallone, and it earned about $16M in the U.S./Canada, with an opening weekend around $5.1M in wide release. So, it wasn’t a box-office winner. And critics collectively rolled their eyes. Janet Maslin in her review said it was “one of Stallone’s more muddled efforts and the plot made no sense”.
But, like many movies from this era, it found a long afterlife as a cable and VHS staple, the kind of movie you stumble into halfway through and end up finishing 7 out of 10 times. Stallone plays Hawk with a cheesy grounded sincerity that sells the emotional arc even when the story leans hard into melodrama. And as a kid, this was prime Stallone fantasy fuel. I wanted him to be my pops and arm-wrestle for me. The movie has that clean, old-school “keep going, keep fighting” simplicity that hits perfectly on cable, especially with Giorgio Moroder’s glossy score and the soundtrack doing a lot of the heavy lifting for the mood in a movie that goes best with a few shots of Valvoline. Alright now you’re going to want to stick around. We’ve had big emotions and bigger spectacle. But with this next rental, the tone shifts into something more serious and more high stakes, with a real sense of danger, heavier impact, and video game level action spectacle.
The Delta Force (1986)
Next up we’re leveling up to 1986’s The Delta Force directed by Menahem Golan, where a commercial airliner is hijacked and an elite rescue unit is deployed before the situation spirals into something truly ugly. Starring Chuck Norris and Lee Marvin who lead a stacked cast in a movie that fuels itself on tension and suspense to deliver an explosive action fantasy.
As a kid, The Delta Force played like a gritty G.I. Joe movie if the gloves came off and the rating went from G to R. It’s big, intense, and very “Cannon” in the sense that when they commit to action, you feel it. The opening hijacking sequence is genuinely tense and, for a mainstream 80s action film, surprisingly dark. And that’s a big reason why it sticks in the memory bank so easily. It also attached itself to my real life. This was the movie that would pop into my head before summer trips with my grandma. Any time I got on a plane, a little part of my brain went, “Okay… where is Chuck Norris sitting and which of these dudes look up to no good?”
Financially, it earned about $6M its opening weekend and finished around $17.8M domestic. With a reported budget in the $9M range. So that box-office performance reads like a solid Cannon win, and it had enough staying power to spawn sequels and remain a home-video staple for years. Critics on the other hand dismissed it with passion. In his review with the NYTimes Vincent Canby, known for his fancy words said it would be the “1986 films all others will have to beat for sheer, unashamed, hilariously vulgar vaingloriousness”.
Personally, I think he liked it but had to inject an insult into his compliment to appease his cinephilic peers. Regardless. The Norris and Marvin pairing is the key. Norris is the direct, physical hero, but Marvin brings a grounded, authoritative presence that makes the operation feel like grim work, not just movie heroics. The violence lands with impact, and the film keeps the tone serious enough that the stakes feel real. And when the action kicks in this movie keeps its foot on the gas and delivers plenty of good old-fashioned practical effects and stunt work. Ok I hope you guys are still with me. We’ve done high-stakes hero work and heavy artillery. Next, we pivot hard into something more off-the-rails bonkers, where the tone gets louder, more chaotic, and a whole lot more bizarre.
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 (1986)
To close out Episode 1, we’re firing up The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 from 1986. Tobe Hooper was back in the director’s chair with a cast led by Dennis Hopper. It follows a radio DJ who crosses paths with the Sawyer family’s latest wave of madness while a vengeance-driven lawman closes in, turning the whole thing into a collision of survival horror and aggressive, borderline cartoonish fury.
I’ll be honest: I didn’t watch this one a ton growing up. But it always seemed to show up around Halloween, and as a kid who thought peak horror was Nightmare on Elm Street, this one felt unsettling in a different way. Not just scary, but chaotic, like the movie is deliberately trying to keep you off balance. Rewatching it now, I appreciate how bold it is. Hooper didn’t attempt to recreate the original’s raw, grim dread. Instead, he pushes hard into black comedy and a kind of grotesque, carnival-nightmare tone, taking the franchise into something louder, messier, and more extreme.
Financially, it cost about $4.7M and grossed roughly $8M domestic, so it wasn’t a massive theatrical hit. And critics were mixed. Roger Ebert gave it 1 out of 4 stars blasting the frenetic tone, pacing, and said it “lacked the terror of the original. And in his review with the NYTimes Walter Goodman said Hooper’s direction was sloppy and that many scenes ran too long.
But its reputation grew the way a lot of cult films do through repeat exposure, home media, and word-of-mouth curiosity. It’s gory, it’s weirdly funny, and it’s completely committed to its own warped energy, which is exactly why it’s become such a cult favorite over time. Even the marketing understood the tone, with a one-sheet that spoofed The Breakfast Club poster. And sure, this movie isn’t for everyone, even me to be honest, but there is a nostalgic charm to be found in a movie you don’t really see replicas of.
Anthony J. Digioia II © 2026 SilverScreen Analysis & Movies Never Say Die
