Dir: David Schmoeller
Empire Pictures funded nonsense with Klaus Kinski playing a mad nazi landlord who spends his free time crawling through the air vents of his building, spying on female residents, beheading rats, applying make-up for no apparent reason, watching Hitler rallies on grainy film stock, playing Russian roulette and killing people indiscriminately. In fairness, Kinski is excellent in this and his unmatchable creepiness carries the otherwise abysmal movie single-handedly. The screenplay is utter nonsense although from it, I learnt that women in their thirties, when alone, will cut peepholes out of their bras in front of the mirrors and perform studio quality renditions of bad 80s ballads on the piano. Also, when in groups, they will hold slumber parties in which they all drink tequila milkshakes, giggle about boys and jump up onto tables shrieking when they see a rat on the floor. This education aside, the film jars severely with its horrendous mix of goofy comedy and unsavoury subject matter. The bombastic orchestral score bludgeons you over the head until any sense of claustrophobia or fear has been entirely erased. The acting, excluding Kinski, is some of the worst I've seen but then, with the dialogue as preposterous as it is, I'm not surprised. A lot of this film feels improvised and even at 80 minutes, it's one Hell of a slog. Worth watching purely for a genius scene in which the sexagenerian Kinski, dressed in an old man's jumper and full face make-up, finds a metal sheet on wheels and propels himself through the air vents as though bodyboarding, for what seems like about 10 minutes. A wonderfully inventive and unintentionally hilarious moment. EL BOMBA!