Bailout (AKA WB, Blue and The Bean, 1989)


David Hasselhoff is Roger, a freelance legal bounty hunter with a fast red car and a portable phone the size of Florida. He’s called White Bread, or WB, by his other bounty hunter friends: a black guy who gets what he wants by telling people that he’s this-or-that famous black athlete (you know, because they all look the same), and a mexican who – guess what!? – is dirt poor and has about 2 dozen kids. The racism in Bailout is light-hearted and inoffensive, you see, because even the rich white guy takes flak for his skin color. WB is on a mission to find a certain young socialite woman (Linda Blair from The Exorcist) so he can tell her about her impending court date, but she’s abducted by a bunch of swarthy Colombians with guns before he can. He decides that the $850 he’s getting paid for this job is worth splitting three ways in order to enlist his buddies to help him take on the Colombians and what turns out to be some kind of cocaine warehouse misappropriation scheme. Eventually their epic quest to remind this random woman that she’s due in court takes them all the way to the island of Agua Dulce, where bandits roam the dunes and the ocean breeze is laced with coke (this is literally true since the island’s cocaine manufacturing center is an open table on what looks like a fairly windy beach). Explosions, daring getaway, corny line, the end.


This movie is just another hasty Hoff-driven action flick you’d most likely come across on a cheap DVD collection at Walmart. It cost me 25 cents, which, coincidentally, is probably just about what the amount of mental effort put into Bailout is worth.


It’s always a good idea to surprise your friends with a David Hasselhoff movie. Add sombreros, guns and cocaine and I bet no one even notices how shitty the movie actually is.


Standard action movie violence, with the majority of the budget going toward an exploding helicopter.

Hasselhoff and Blair end up in a motel room together, and then again later they pretend to get it on to fool their Colombian captors, but (spoiler alert) they never actually get it on. I suppose Linda Blair isn’t exactly a sex pot, after all who among us can look at her and not see the pea soup and bloody crucifix. As much as I enjoyed her in The Exorcist, though, I don’t think she was a good choice for this movie. This movie needed a bimbo, with some sex. They had the explosions, the gunfire, The Hoff, and no sex. What kind of a movie is that? It’s like a fruit salad with no balled melon.


About what you’d expect from Hasselhoff and Blair, given the material they had to work with. I’d much rather see Linda Blair spinning her head around. And, in all honesty, I’d also rather see David Hasselhoff with his head spinning. You know your movie sucks when the main star gives a better performance eating floor burgers in his bathroom. Most everyone else in Bailout plays a sufficient black or Mexican/Colombian/Misc. Hispanic stereotype.


Nothing says 1989 like David Hasselhoff, a sweat band and a brick mobile phone.


Not interesting or special in any way really, and definitely on the predictable side. I had to cringe when WB’s Mexican friend was told by the Colombians to present his badges, because I knew what was coming. Sure enough, the next words out of his mouth were, “Badges!? I ain’t got no stinkin’ badges!” Another fun off-color moment comes when WB asks his boss to send some money to feed the Mexican’s two dozen kids, and the boss responds, “I’ll deliver a bag of groceries over to his house, but no cash! They’ll use it to buy marijuana and wine.”

Best Line:

“I can’t believe that guy called me a fuck-face.” – David Hasselhoff


Well David Hasslehoff and Linda Blair, it was fun but your movie meant nothing to me. Don’t bother leaving your number on the dresser, I won’t be calling. I’ll always remember you as the movie who had the “self-respect” and “artistic integrity” to bailout, but not put out.


25 cents worth. If that.


They did a great job pointing the camera in the general direction of the action.


It almost feels unfair to give Bailout such harsh scores in the more creative aspects of our judging criteria, because the film makers clearly weren’t trying to be creative. It’s like an art critic finding fault with the color schemes in a random pile of dog shit on the street. That dog shit isn’t trying to be art, it’s just trying to be dog shit, and if you don’t like it, don’t step in it. I didn’t step into Bailout with particularly high expectations, but it still stunk. It clogged the grooves of my brain just like dog shit in the tread of your shoes.


Or finding a big wet sloppy turd in the upper tank of your toilet.

David Hasselhoff expressed as a limerick:

There once was a stud called The Hoff

Whose locks were tousled and soft

He wore a sweatband

He had a tight can

And he needed a drink to get off.


~ by mgjk on March 4, 2010.

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