Why are diabolical killers always men? Why in the great universe called cinema is it impossible for a lone woman to enjoy slicing and dicing and committing repeated acts of murder just for the hell of it? Even when film-makers like Dario Argento have used female serial killers they are a rather sorry bunch and far from the charmingly unapologetic psychopathy of a Hannibal Lector. Why can multiple movie murderers only be intriguing men twisted by their masculinity?
Equal rights for female psychopaths is the motivation of Sexy Killer. A fun, kitsch, comedy horror which satirises the world of multiple murder and accessorises it beautifully. Set on a college campus, our heroine is dispatching those who give her cause to with alacrity and a definite enviable elan. With her pet pooch, formidable dress sense, and admirable homicidal purpose she is piling up the bodies for the local police to sift through for clues.
The police have a problem though with the emergence of a second body - it falls from her bedroom onto the top of their medical examiner, thus slowing down the whole autopsy thing. They soon get a couple of students to deal with the post mortem backlog, and one of them begins a tempestuous affair with our killer who mistakes his talk of dissection for evidence of a kindred murdering spirit. The two temporary coroners soon find a use for their pet project, a machine that can read thoughts, and as an added extra it is soon bringing the recently murdered back to life.
Just imagine if Scream had been intelligent, inventive, or indeed funny? Just imagine that - I have to say I have tried to imagine lots during Wes Craven films or whilst listening to Kevin Williamson dialogue, in the same way that you might stab yourself in the leg to ignore the fact that your brain is leaking. Sexy Killer is much superior to all those Williamson written horrors. It is brash with the kind of joie de mourir that makes early Almodovar such a malevolent pleasure. Chock full of song and dance sequences, very inventive killings and a smashing sense of flirting with the audience to ensure an excellent experience.
The comic hyperbole lends itself to a cartoon feel and the conspiratorial narration from our heroine makes the audience party to her carnage and not at all unsympathetic to some particularly inspired and messy killings. The fantastic world of adverts, women's magazines, and teenage rivalry make events almost seem integrated even if the showdown involves a zombie attack, chainsaw assault, and nightmarish visions of suburban happiness. It's all such great fun and done with great wickedness and bad taste that it manages to keep you hooked despite numerous reservations on the grounds of morality or indeed fashion.
Faced with often screamingly vivid colours, this sharp transfer deals well with all the film can throw at it. Presented at 2.35:1, anamorphic and with excellent contrast, my only real criticism is that this does not much like film, which given an often video game like approach to the content is not inappropriate really.
The Spanish stereo mix comes with optional subs and does and admirable job of keeping up with the sassy soundtrack which includes yet another cover version of Barbie Girl. The sound is well produced rather than natural, but dialogue, effects and music are clear of distortion. There is plenty going on with the bass although overall detail is not exceptional.
Only forced trailers as extras with the British Comedy Telstar, along with more earthy cyberpunk affairs.
A cracking film gets a goodish treatment. You must see this as you will laugh your socks off whilst being charmed by the leading monsteress.