Writing reviews for other outlets than Shadowplay can feel like homework, but on the other hand you do get the perk of being sent review copies. But when the film under review is Lucio Fulci’s THE NEW YORK RIPPER, that may not feel like a bonus. Appalling, misogynistic, anti-sex (the people who hate sex are not the feminists, but perhaps they’re the pornographers) and deeply stupid in a way only gialli can be, it’s nevertheless morbidly fascinating, a ne plus ultra of scuzzy woman-hating, as extreme in its savagery as SALO, but with far less serious purpose.
Occasional visual felicities —
“No, Mr Fulci, no!”
Still, I’m kind of glad I saw it…