Law-enforcement agents hunt down a rampaging, kill-crazy asylum escapee, and the psychopath's mother offers her aid in his capture. Not much else to be said about this one except that it's a VERY strange presentation dusted with quirky stylistic touches(scenes end in abrupt freeze-frame fadeouts, lumbering "point of view" camera-work abounds, and several scenes conclude with a perplexing audio/visual dissonance). These aesthetic flourishes, however, are so erratic and unfamiliar that they may be nothing more than the salient indicia of inept amateur film-making. Oddly enough, it's the movie's eccentricity/unique mishandling which makes it more-or-less watchable. Had there been even the slightest bit of aptitude applied to this project, the result would have been a garden-variety grindhouse psycho-on-the-loose mess. It's bad, to be sure. BEYOND bad, actually...but something about its clunky, infelicitous artsy inclinations becomes oddly inveigling.
A helicopter features prominently during the film's climax. It's a real, honest-to-goodness helicopter, which is surprising to see in such a remote-controlled-toy-helicopter sort of picture. There's also some deliciously tacky filler featuring the charismatic Johnny Charro...a lounge singer in a poly-dacron bellbottom onesie, unzipped past his navel to showcase a bird-sanctuary of deep-shag chest chair. He's Engelbert Humperdinck, Evel Knievel, and in-extremis Elvis all rolled into one. Sideburned 70s machismo personified...you never had it so good.
Most people will dismiss this uncharted thriller as a toilsome slasher genre prototype...and they're probably right. I maintain, however, that there's a charmingly disadvantaged quiddity to ANOTHER SON OF SAM, though I can't quite put my finger on it.
3.5/10
A helicopter features prominently during the film's climax. It's a real, honest-to-goodness helicopter, which is surprising to see in such a remote-controlled-toy-helicopter sort of picture. There's also some deliciously tacky filler featuring the charismatic Johnny Charro...a lounge singer in a poly-dacron bellbottom onesie, unzipped past his navel to showcase a bird-sanctuary of deep-shag chest chair. He's Engelbert Humperdinck, Evel Knievel, and in-extremis Elvis all rolled into one. Sideburned 70s machismo personified...you never had it so good.
Most people will dismiss this uncharted thriller as a toilsome slasher genre prototype...and they're probably right. I maintain, however, that there's a charmingly disadvantaged quiddity to ANOTHER SON OF SAM, though I can't quite put my finger on it.
3.5/10