You’ve probably heard the old Benjamin Franklin line about how nothing is certain except for those two dreaded things. It’s a cliché. But in 1993, a filmmaker named Jeffrey Marshall decided to turn that inevitability into a heist film that most people have completely forgotten about. If you go looking for the death and taxes movie today, you aren't finding a blockbuster. You’re finding a gritty, low-budget indie that feels like a time capsule of 90s cynicism.
It’s weird.
The movie follows a small-town reporter who gets way too deep into a conspiracy involving the IRS and a string of suspicious deaths. It’s not "The Firm." It doesn't have the gloss of a John Grisham adaptation. Honestly, it feels more like something you’d find on a dusty VHS shelf in a basement, which is exactly why it’s worth talking about. While big-budget thrillers from that era relied on explosions, this one banked on the universal fear of being crushed by a bureaucracy you can’t fight.
What actually happens in Death and Taxes?
The plot is pretty straightforward but gets messy fast. You have George, a guy just trying to do his job, who stumbles upon a scheme where people are being "liquidated" to settle their debts. Literally. It’s a dark premise. The film leans heavily into the noir aesthetic, using shadows to hide the fact that they clearly didn't have a massive budget for sets.
Most people get this movie confused with documentaries or similarly titled shorts. Don't. This specific 1993 release is a narrative feature. It’s a slow burn. Sometimes it’s too slow. But the way it treats the Internal Revenue Service as a shadowy, almost omnipotent villain is fascinating. It reflects a very specific American anxiety from the early 90s—the idea that the government isn't just taking your money, but potentially your life.
I remember watching a scene where the dialogue just drags on about tax codes. Usually, that’s a death sentence for a thriller. Here? It somehow adds to the realism. It makes the threat feel boring, and boring threats are often the most terrifying because they’re the most plausible.
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Why nobody talks about this film anymore
Distribution was a nightmare. That’s the short version.
Independent films in the early 90s lived and died by film festivals and small-market theatrical runs. This death and taxes movie didn't have the backing of a Miramax or a New Line Cinema. It floated around, gained a tiny cult following, and then mostly evaporated as the world moved toward digital media.
The cast and the "Who is that?" factor
You won’t find A-listers here. The cast is filled with "that guy" actors—people you’ve seen in three episodes of Law & Order or a random 80s sitcom.
- George S. Clinton: No, not the P-Funk legend. He did the music.
- The Lead: Often played with a frantic, unpolished energy that actually works for a paranoid reporter.
If you’re looking for polished performances, you’re in the wrong place. But if you want to see what happens when a group of people with a few thousand dollars and a chip on their shoulder try to make a political statement, this is it. It’s raw. It’s unrefined. It’s kind of a mess, but it’s an honest mess.
The IRS as the ultimate cinematic villain
We’ve had some great villains in cinema. Darth Vader. Hannibal Lecter. The shark from Jaws. But there’s something uniquely soul-crushing about a villain that uses paperwork.
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The death and taxes movie taps into the "Common Man vs. The Machine" trope. In the 90s, this was a huge vibe. Think about Falling Down or even The Matrix later in the decade. There was this growing sense that the systems we built to manage society were starting to eat us alive. This film just took the most literal interpretation of that possible.
Does it hold up?
Yes and no. Mostly no, if we’re talking about technical quality. The film grain is heavy. The sound mixing is occasionally wonky. But the theme? That holds up better than ever. In an age of automated audits and digital surveillance, the idea of a faceless entity tracking your every cent is actually more relevant now than it was in 1993.
The movie treats taxes not as a civic duty, but as a predatory hunt. It’s cynical. It’s bleak. It’s basically the cinematic equivalent of a headache you get while filing your Form 1040, only with more murder.
How to find the Death and Taxes movie (and what to avoid)
If you’re searching for this, you’re going to run into a few obstacles. There are at least three other projects with similar names.
- The 1993 Feature: This is the one we’re talking about. Look for the Jeffrey Marshall credit.
- The Documentary: There’s a documentary about tax protestors (specifically Richard Simkanin). It’s a different beast entirely, focusing on the real-world legal battles of people who refuse to pay.
- Short Films: Every film student in history has tried to name their thesis project Death and Taxes. Ignore those.
You’re likely going to find this on niche streaming services or physical media marketplaces like eBay. It hasn't received a 4K restoration. It probably never will. That’s part of the charm. It’s a piece of "lost" media that exists on the fringes of the thriller genre.
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The reality of independent filmmaking in the 90s
We talk about the "Indie Boom" of the 90s like it was all Quentin Tarantino and Kevin Smith. It wasn't. For every Clerks, there were a thousand movies like this one. Films that were made with passion but lacked the "cool" factor to break into the mainstream.
The death and taxes movie is a reminder of that era. It’s a reminder that before everyone had a 4K camera in their pocket, making a movie about a conspiracy was a massive, expensive undertaking. You had to really want to tell the story. You had to believe that the IRS-as-killers plot was something the world needed to see.
Final verdict on the 1993 cult classic
Is it a masterpiece? No. Is it a fascinating look at post-Cold War American paranoia? Absolutely.
The movie doesn't give you easy answers. It doesn't end with a heroic speech or the dismantling of the tax system. It ends with a cold realization that the system is bigger than any one person. It’s a bit of a downer, honestly. But in a world of superhero movies where everything is wrapped up with a neat little bow, there’s something refreshing about a movie that just tells you you’re screwed.
If you enjoy 90s thrillers, political conspiracies, or just want to see how people used to make movies before CGI took over everything, hunt this one down. Just don't expect a fun time. It’s a movie about death and taxes, after all.
How to approach watching this "lost" thriller
If you actually manage to track down a copy of the death and taxes movie, go into it with the right mindset. This isn't a modern fast-paced action flick.
- Check the source: Ensure you aren't accidentally buying the documentary version unless you want a lesson in tax law.
- Lower your technical expectations: This was shot on film with limited lighting. It’s dark—literally.
- Watch the background: The 90s office tech (huge monitors, fax machines) is a goldmine for nostalgia.
- Listen to the score: George S. Clinton actually put some real effort into the atmospheric tension.
The best way to experience this film is to treat it as a historical artifact. It captures a moment in time when we were just starting to realize that the digital age would make the "taxman" even more powerful than before. It’s a weird, dark, and occasionally clunky piece of cinema that deserves more than a footnote in film history.