Realização:
William LustigCâmara:
Robert LindsayMúsica:
Jay ChattawayElenco:
Joe Spinell, Caroline Munro, Abigail Clayton, Kelly Piper, Tom Savini, William Lustig, Sharon Mitchell, Carol Henry, Rita Montone, Hyla Marrow (mais)Sinopses(1)
Frank Zito is a deeply disturbed man, haunted by the traumas of unspeakable childhood abuse. And when these horrific memories begin to scream inside his mind, Frank prowls the seedy streets of New York City to stalk and slaughter innocent young women. Now Frank has begun a relationship with a beautiful photographer, yet his vile compulsions remain. These are the atrocities of a human monster. This is the story of a Maniac. (texto oficial do distribuidor)
(mais)Críticas (3)
Um pequeno irmão da família de obras como The Prowler (1981) ou The Toolbox Murders (1978) - ou seja, um splatter slasher brutal, divertindo-se perversamente nos assassinatos mais brutais possíveis de vítimas selecionadas aleatoriamente. O filme está com o assassino do primeiro ao último minuto, e ao ouvir o seu grunhido constante, finge ser uma sonda psicológica na sua mente... pois. Uma cena espetacular (salto num carro com uma espingarda), uma cena de suspense (sanitas no metro) e uma conclusão inesperada e surpreendentemente boa - é isso que leva este lixo de filme B até às 2 estrelas.
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Straight psychological slasher (those words don’t go very well together, but I don’t know how else to describe it) with a great Joe Spinell in the main role. The murder scenes are good, and two of them are actually excellent, it’s a shame that they aren’t supported by a better story, but let’s not kid ourselves: the psychology is good, the story not so. Without any doubt, the atmosphere reaches its peak with the toilet scene, I almost couldn’t breathe because of the tension; if the entire film was like that, it would be among my top favourite. 70% and I’m rounding up to four stars because of the poster, it’s really great.
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Summer of Frank doesn’t quite live up to the portrayal of a mass murderer like Henry. While the director’s roots in the porn industry are evident, the film lacks the cleverness and raw intensity of McNaughton’s work, making the murderous activities of the grumbling Spinell—who skillfully alternates between a full-on psycho and hints of charm—quickly wear thin. One extra scalp nailed to the wall for Tom Savini's masks and the Taxi Driver vibes, but overall, it misses the mark.
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