There are films that sneak up on you, grab your throat, and whisper sweet cinematic nothings before slapping you with a third-act twist. Then there’s The Ambulance—a movie that pulls up beside you like some wheezing, low-budget Cadillac of nonsense and offers you a ride you’ll regret accepting before the door even closes.
Directed by Larry Cohen, who’s made a career out of giving weird ideas too much room to breathe, The Ambulance stars Eric Roberts with a mullet so heroic it deserved its own SAG card. He plays Josh Baker, a comic book artist (because of course he is) who witnesses a woman collapse on a New York sidewalk, then watches her get loaded into an ambulance that may as well have “evil” painted on the side in neon red. The kicker? She disappears. No hospital. No records. Nothing. And just like that, we’re off to the races—or at least limping toward them.
This movie tries very hard to be a thriller. It squints real hard at the idea of suspense, but ends up face-planting into a puddle of unintentional comedy. Every performance feels like it’s taking place on a different soundstage, and the editing is so jagged it feels like the film reel was cut with garden shears.
And yet, the plot. Oh, the plot.
Turns out there’s a rogue ambulance kidnapping people for twisted medical experiments, which is somehow less terrifying than the idea of Eric Roberts hitting on every nurse, cop, and stranger he meets like he’s on a personal mission to make everyone uncomfortable. He’s not so much investigating a mystery as stumbling through one in acid-washed jeans and a look of perpetual confusion.
Now, let’s talk about Janine Turner—the film’s lone bright spot, and even she’s barely there. She’s the mystery woman, the spark that sends Roberts on this Scooby-Doo chase through Manhattan. She’s charming, pretty, and blessedly normal in a sea of cartoonish weirdos. But blink, and she’s gone—carted away by the titular ambulance before we’ve even had time to enjoy her presence. It’s like casting a gourmet meal in a microwave burrito commercial.
James Earl Jones also shows up for reasons that remain unclear, looking like he’s being held hostage by his mustache and a script written on cocktail napkins. He chews gum with such aggressive dedication that it becomes a more memorable performance than half the cast delivers. He’s a detective, maybe? A very bored one.
If you’re the kind of person who finds comfort in logic or coherence, The Ambulance will make you question your life choices. People sneak around hospitals with the subtlety of drunk elephants. The evil doctor, played by Eric Braeden of The Young and the Restless fame, delivers lines like he’s auditioning for a soap opera about organ theft. And the titular ambulance appears out of nowhere like a vengeful ghost, except it’s just a clunky van with a paint job.
By the time the third act arrives, you’re not even mad. You’re just tired. It’s a movie that wants to be creepy and cool but ends up being the cinematic equivalent of a fever dream after bad shellfish. You sit there watching Roberts dodge another murder attempt, wondering how much longer it can go on before the merciful end credits.
And when those credits do roll, you’re left with a strange feeling: not fear, not satisfaction, but confusion laced with a mild hangover. It’s the kind of movie you remember only in fragments—Eric Roberts trying to be Indiana Jones in a hospital corridor, James Earl Jones eating gum like it’s personal, and a criminal lack of Janine Turner.
So if you’re thinking about watching The Ambulance, ask yourself: “Do I really want to spend 90 minutes being slowly run over by a plot that stalls every ten minutes?” If the answer is yes, then buckle up. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Final Diagnosis:
The Ambulance is a cinematic car wreck you can’t look away from—part horror, part comedy, all accident. And somewhere in that flaming wreckage is Janine Turner, waving goodbye far too early, the only sane one who got out while she could.
