The slip-ups in the making of this film are pretty egregious. The simmering cauldron of jealousy and lust at the dance school never capitalized upon. Let's repeat Rule One of exploitation: EXPLOIT SOMETHING, for heaven's sake! Lots of characters talk about sex, but aside from some making-out and a bit of soap-opera style enjoyment of the afterglow, there's no skin and relatively little nudity. While there's not much nekkidity, there are plentiful shots of bare bosoms--which is to say, "bare bosoms in the process of being pierced by a deadly needle." Which, for me, sort of detracts from the nipply glee.
Also--lemme just take a moment to note that these are some of the easiest-dyin' characters in cinema history! While I'm sure that medical science can clue me in to the existance of a magical Off Button that resides somewhere beneath the female breast, I'm thinking it would take a lot of practice and more than one straight-in stab with a pin to find it. I'm almost starting to think that the set square is a good murder weapon after all...
The Keith Emerson soundtrack is whacked-out beyond belief, somehow managing to be viciously repetitive without ever getting stuck in one's head (thankfully). There are strained, almost-off-key and certainly over-emphatic vocals that would make the Weather Girls start doling out umbrella beatings, featuring repeated cliches such as "Tonight is your night--YEAH!" I was yearning for the credits theme from "Faceless" by about eight minutes in. Deepening the criminality of the film is that there are several shot-on-location scenes in vintage New York City that are bland unto tears. This shame is doubly-deep, since the Fulcinator gave us that awesome shot of the masses of undead lumbering across the Brooklyn Bridge in "Zombie"--he can do great stuff with the NYC scenery, he just doesn't do it here.
For more hott spandex action, check out the Flickr gallery of stills from "Murder Rock."