Thursday, July 12, 2012

Don't Answer The Phone! (1980)

Fear 0/5
Gore 0/5
Entertainment 5/5
Creepiness 3/5

Don't Answer the Phone! is the kind of sleazy film that is indicative of horror in the 80's: zany one liners, ridiculous and random scenes of boobage, all driven by the mad antics of a super psycho, sweaty, dirty, killer. This folks is a classic. And if you're looking for something silly, over-the-top, and unplug your brain from the matrix silly, you will find a vintage none finer than this.

Our film centers on a burly, sweaty, mountain of a man, driven by a very odd combination of religious fervor and narcissism to kill all women he comes into contact with and then subsequently stalks. When they strip naked or have come out of a so fresh and so clean session in the shower, he gets all horned up and psychotic, ripping off their clothes and strangling them.


But fear not! A couple of astute detectives (er, I mean completely clueless) are on the case! This foul man will be off the streets in no time. I mean this guy's m.o. is to rip women's clothes off and then sexually assault them. So they are totally on the trail and completely in tune with what's going on when one of them asks this gem of a question and other responds accordingly:

Detective 1: 'Was she sexually assaulted?'

Detective 2: 'Every orifice she's got.'


So our burly, dirty, sweaty, huff and puff mountain of a man likes to call in to a local radio talk show. He likes to air out his dirty laundry on radio so much so that the host starts to think that she's going to be a target. Our killer likes to be very chameleon-like, first appearing with an army jacket (seriously, the dude is walking down the street, in Los Angeles, in broad daylight looking all mean and dirty with a military jacket and NO ONE thinks him the least bit suspicious) and then as a 'professional' photographer.  He first gets into ladies' knickers saying he works for a film studio and he's there to take head shots but really he's there to kill them and take nasty skin rag pictures. Only they're dead. And once again, one of our crack detectives hot on the case (this after rummaging through belongings he thinks are the killer's in THE WRONG HOUSE) remarks:

Crack Detective: 'He doesn't look like a porn photographer to me. He doesn't even have a blowup suck me Suzy doll.'


His daily affirmations of looking into a mirror while holding a beer are classic.

So our completely cuckoo nutso killer ends up at the house of our radio host and a final standoff ensues between our killer and one of the detectives who has fallen for the talk show host. They brawl and both of the dirty, smelly, sweaty bodies collide in pseudo-homosexual bliss. There is so much sexual craziness to this film, it's insane.

If you like cheesy, dirty, and just downright sleazy films from the 70's and 80's, you will find none better than this. It's a hoot and if you don't take it too seriously, you'll have yourself a riotously good time.

Oh and an 80's horror film is not really a horror film without a random scene of a woman groping her supple breasts:


Cortez the Killer

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