The New York Ripper (1982)
Well this was a wild ride. Reviled at release as one of the worst examples of slasher sleaze, it holds up as one of the best examples of nostalgically appreciated slasher sleaze. Lucio Fulci’s New York set slasher/giallo is nonsensical, cruel, ugly, and kinda fun if you’re up for it.
The plot is all over the place and honestly, even a couple days after watching it, I’d be hard pressed to recount it successfully. But basically there are a couple of threads. Of course, there is a killer, unsurprisingly targeting women, especially those in the sex industry or otherwise viewed through a sexual lens. Whenever this killer talks on the phone with the police detective pursuing him, he has a voice like Donald Duck. Ok. Sure. There is the plot of the pursuing detective, being taunted by this avian voiced madman. And there is the story of a woman, in a kinky open relationship with her husband, who’s in the habit of going out into gritty NYC settings for rough sex with strangers, one of whom she becomes convinced is the killer of the headlines. In the end, I’m pretty sure that was a red herring and everything cycles back to the detective, but the convolutions of the plot have already slipped through the cracks of my mind.
But, in a way, in its glorious, sordid, trashy excess, the film mostly works. It is not a ‘pretty’ stylish Italian giallo, but there is successful artistry to the kill scenes that the flick most revels in, creating enjoyable tension as it basks in seediness and flesh and blades flashing in the shadows and the groove of its early 80s New York backdrop.
This is certainly not one for everyone, either too pointlessly bloodthirsty and over sexualized or too boring, but if you’re up for that sort of thing, it’s kinda great as well.