slasher quickies: intruder & The New York ripper

The night crew at a local supermarket gets to work stocking shelves. Soon they’re being picked off one-by-one by a homicidal maniac. Cashier Jennifer (Elizabeth Cox) suspects it must be her fresh-out-of-prison ex Craig, who showed up before closing and caused a violent scene, still sour over their breakup. Then again, might that explanation be a little too obvious?​

Intruder was the directorial debut of Scott Spiegel, an early partner-in-crime of Sam Raimi (he co-wrote the script for Evil Dead II). Raimi actually has a decent-sized role as the store’s butcher, Randy, as does his brother Ted, who’s in charge of produce (Bruce Campbell, meanwhile, chips in with a late cameo... pay no attention to their names being shamelessly brandished on the poster). Spiegel, keenly aware that this is an 80s slasher, prioritizes inventive camerawork and memorable death scenes (let’s just say we aren’t shown a deli slicer - or the store’s co-owner using a receipt spike in the office - for no particular reason). The grocery store setting feels fresh (look for an early shot of Fruit Brute breakfast cereal)… but also a bit limiting. The film struggles to sustain its 80-minute runtime, and that’s taking into account its surprisingly drawn-out first act (the body count runs dry a little too fast). But this is a movie that’s been calibrated with precisely the right level of ambition. Spiegel knows exactly what sort of movie he’s making here - it’s tailor-made for late-night group screenings. He may not have been the next Raimi, but he flashes his own creative spark. It’s disappointing he didn’t go on to have more of a career.

The New York Ripper is a thriller for people who like their giallo the same way Arnold likes his women in Total Recall - sleazy. If released today, director Lucio Fulci would almost certainly be taken to task for rank misogyny. The story follows a killer who talks (and quacks) like Donald Duck (a bizarre detail that, oddly enough, becomes the film’s most endearing trait) as he prowls New York’s red light district, targeting promiscuous women. The murder scenes are aggressively, almost maliciously graphic. One victim is subjected to a broken bottle grinding into her crotch; another has her eyeball (and nipple) split by a razor blade in gruesome close-up. Even those well-versed in the luridness of Italian filmmaking may find their mettle tested.   ​

There isn’t much of an emotional entry point into the picture - Jack Hedley’s burnt-out homicide detective and Almanta Keller’s nominal heroine are the only characters of note, and neither make much impression. Some have attempted to defend the film as a commentary on social degradation, but the end product mostly just comes across as masturbatory exploitation. That being said, it has a certain breezy weirdness, and conveys a palpable, early-80s seediness that’s difficult to fake. Fulci is certainly not without a sense of style, or twisted wit. Like most giallo pictures, the story builds to a preposterous climax with a revelatory twist concerning the killer’s identity and motivations you’ll either go with, or you won’t. The New York Ripper is basically trash, but then again - that’s kind of the point.