directed by jeremy hoenack
hoenack productions
Tracking a serial killer who seems to be an amalgam of Ted Bundy and one of the Hillside Stranglers, a tough, no-nonsense cop consults a psychologist, who concocts a profile he shares with a cop buddy from a different jurisdiction. Meanwhile, trouble at home. And all these hitchhiking young girls keep turning up dead. Then some cat-and-mouse. A dangerous gambit. Finally, tough decisions; rough justice. More of a police procedural than a horror flick and largely lacking graphic detail – albeit with a scene involving nudity that seems spliced in from a different movie – it’s kind of hard to tell what was the target venue and/or audience for this one. It plays like a made-for-TV movie for the most part. The obligatory Gruff Police Captain sports some interesting haberdashery.
why did i watch this movie?
This title turned up when I was searching for some other assuredly worthwhile cinematic experience, and it appeared more of a sleazy exploitation-type cheapie than it turned out to be.
should you watch this movie?
I guess if you can’t find reruns of “Baretta” or “Kojak” or similar.
highlight and low point
The glorious essence of the 1970s is the most engaging feature of this presentation, and should not be discounted. Fashion, lifestyles, automobiles, mores … so much to enjoy. How The Sport Killer – who is not referred to as such at any time – suddenly finds himself vulnerable is deus ex machina par excellence.
Abel Ferrara’s non-pornographic feature-length directorial debut, in which he also stars under a pseudonym as the main character, a struggling-artist type in the Big City. With two female roommates – one of whom is apparently married and affluent, the other of which is, like, spaced out, man. (The roommates have a shower scene, because it’s very important to the plot.) Of the plot, it must be said, there is one: Reno, the artist, is working on a painting he hopes to sell to the gay art dealer he dislikes but nonetheless depends on, because Reno has no money. Meanwhile, a band called Roosters moves into his same tenement building and practices their discordant off-key blues-influenced new wave at all hours. Naturally, he starts killing derelicts with a power drill. Then things start to go awry. The best parts of this movie are the Roosters, whose music is chaotic and senseless and not “good,” and the utter zeal with which the drill killings are performed. Abel Ferrara: we need filmmakers like him.
This is a weird one, the kind of movie they really don’t make anymore. Kind of an American giallo, it also pays homage in a way to Don’t Look Back by Nicolas Roeg, complete with the signature rain slicker. (I have never seen Don’t Look Back, but am well aware of its tropes.) A familial study in more than one way – WHAT is her sister’s problem? WHERE is daddy? – the fun really begins when Brooke Shields is murdered during her First Holy Communion (oh, all right, the character she plays is). So what’s up with that priest, anyway? The SHOCKING reveal in this one mostly works, especially because at least one important ambiguity remains unexplained; also, some of the criminal acts in the film seem to arise mainly from malevolence or ill nature, not particularly to further serve the plot. There’s even a John Waters aspect to parts of this feature. Creepy and effective.
Purportedly a “horror comedy,” this offering could’ve used more of either, or both. Readymade for the bygone era of the “prize movie” – or Elvira, Mistress of the Night – Nightmare mostly plays it low-key, and is made with enough panache to avoid becoming fodder for MST3K types (or RiffTrax, if we wanna be up-to-date). The major problem it has is it doesn’t offer enough scares OR laughs for either aspect to become clear; it is also held back by its limited scope. The premise – famous vampire actor is marquee guest at horror convention, and actual vampire – probably works better if expanded beyond a focus on the same small set of characters. It may have been more effective in its own era, albeit merely with cult appeal – and turns out the writer/director, John Stanley, hosted a late-nite television program called Creature Features for eight years. Well, whaddya know. 
If you try, you can find the claim that this chunk of tripe was a precursor to the slasher craze or some such nonsense. What it IS is a convoluted bit of inanity that doesn’t make much sense and doesn’t really bother to try.
SPACE RATS From Outer Space 