Item Description
Here's Jeff Hathcock's (Fertilize The Blaspheming Bombshell aka
Mark Of The Beast, Victims!) rare 1986 shot on video slasher
Night Ripper!! An odd little man with a mustache, slight lisp, and
burgundy eyeglasses -- size XXL, of course -- states, "I was a
butcher for five years and now I'm a photographer. Anything can
happen." Indeed, this statement is most profound. Anything can
happen. And, in the lexicon of vintage shot on video (SOV) trash,
it often does. Which is why
Night Ripper, a bewildered slasher which focuses on the
rites of relationships rather than slashing, remains an anomaly.
Nothing much happens. Still, enthusiasm cannot be concealed.
Glamour shots of women clad in safari bathing suits tend to have
that effect on me.
Somewhere south of Synth-Pop Heaven and west of Convertible
Jaguars, Inc. (a tough place to find!), lies The Ripper and his
shiny knife. Yet, while The Ripper stabs his model-victims in the
face (fake freeze frame brilliance) and mutilates their bodies, all
is not well in Cupid's kingdom. Since the characters get by without
names, I can only relate the following: Love at first sight is
possible whilst in the presence of Glamour Shots. Lesbians are very
angry. Fiancees cannot be trusted. Ever. Finally, when your
mistress yells, "This isn't love -- this is two sweaty bodies
fucking under a floodlamp! AND I'M TIRED OF FLOODLAMPS!", she could
benefit from a good slap or two. All this and a showdown in a
mannequin factory? Night rippin'.
Steering clear of the overt misogyny found in director Jeff
Hatchcock's other "hits" (
Fertilize The Blaspheming Bombshell,
Night Ripper makes it out alive. Of course, as mentioned,
the weirdo aggregation is sorely limited. The film essentially
boils down to a handful of colorful folks, their sometimes-amusing
dialogues, and the most hilariously convoluted slasher motive to
drop trough in some time. Bathtubs are scummy. Overhead lights
buzz. The brief gore bits reside somewhere between 
"Blood Cult" and
"555". Throw in the killer's silk mask, about 1.5 seconds
of The Beatles' "If I Fell", and a ton of driving padding and
you'll eventually fall asleep.
Unless there's a floodlamp in close proximity.
ships in a plain sleeve with no artwork