What is not clear is, if The Photographer is a wannabe Nazi, why’s he killing all the blue-eyed blondes? Just one of life’s ambiguous imponderables, I guess. The idea that it is the character who’s misogynistic (actually, he’s more a misanthrope) and not the movie, is crystal clear. The music (score, and original songs) is perfect, and the cinematography is competent and workmanlike.Ĭameos from Gunnar Hansen (The original Leatherface) and Tony Todd ( Candyman) are welcome diversions, bringing a more heightened, cinematic feel to the movie, but in all honesty they don’t fit in with the flow of the story. Las Vegas is a defined character in the film, as are the many set-pieces. The dialogue is excellent (even though not all of the actors are up to the task), and the non-murder scenes have a very 1970s independent film vibe. It’s not, by any stretch of the twisted imagination. That’s not to say Murder Set-Pieces is a bad film. I felt apathetic and unaffected by it all and to me, that is not an interesting or intriguing movie-going experience. It’s more like watching cattle being slaughtered.
Although I’d almost like to say that the murder scenes are similar to what you’d see in John McNaughton’s Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer, or Jim Van Bebber’s The Manson Family as far as the exploitation angle goes, it’s not quite like that, either. There’s a clinical, detached approach to the proceedings. There’s no suspense because we don’t identify with the victims (as we do in Hostel), nor do we identify with the villain (as we do in The Devil’s Rejects). The violence is graphic, brutal and ghastly, but as I mentioned previously, it’s not suspenseful or cringe-inducting.
In the DVD commentary, Palumbo states, “Hey, sometimes things happen for no reason at all.” I can dig that, but when you’re watching the movie without commentary, the disconcerting randomness isn’t played up enough for you to realize that’s what’s going on. Tantalizing tidbits are dangled like carrots on a stick to explain what makes The Photographer tick, but in the end they lead nowhere. I tend to appreciate ambiguity over abject certainty too, but in this case it simply didn’t make sense for the story. He doesn’t seem particularly rich, nor is he good-looking, so how does he maintain not only a girlfriend, but a string of sexy nude models who serve as an endless buffet to his deadly appetites? The puzzler is addressed in a dialogue scene between Charlotte and Jade, but the answer is ambiguous.Īmbiguity is a biggie for writer-director Nick Palumbo, according to his words on the DVD commentary. No charming, seductive, intellectual Hannibal Lecter he, The Photographer is a terse, rude, narcissistic openly hateful man.
However, savvy 12-year-old Jade (Jade Risser) smells a rat, and she’s not afraid to say so.
The Photographer’s girlfriend, a hairdresser named Charlotte (Valerie Baber) who's raising her two little sisters, has no idea of his extra-curricular activities. Rats, maggots and flies feast on female bodies also in various states of decay. The walls, ceiling, floor and furniture are saturated with blood of all ages from dried to congealed to freshly pooled.
He’s got a full palette of pain, including everything from paring knives to chainsaws. His basement is also a soundproof torture chamber with all manner of restraining devices: a wooden chair and with arm and leg belts, chains and hooks hanging from the walls, and shackles bolted to the walls. When he’s not “shooting girls” he proudly drives his dark blue muscle car, collects Nazi memorabilia, works out with weighty barbells, trolls porno bookstores and strip clubs, and maintains the photo shrine to himself he keeps on his basement wall. The movie opens on a nameless, taciturn 30ish German photographer (Sven Garrett), living in Las Vegas. The movie is definitely more Vincent Gallo than Dario Argento, in that it has a more cinema verite, matter-of-fact vibe than the suspenseful, artistic or intricate giallo feel some of the advance press might lead you to expect. The opening credits promise a stylistic approach to the look and feel of the film, which is not sustained. When the ends credits roll, you might be thinking to yourself: “What’s all the fuss about?” (At least, you will if you’re as jaded a viewer as I am.)
To say your expectations might be high when you slip Murder Set-Pieces into your DVD player would be an understatement. Murder Set-Pieces is an independent horror movie that comes with a mighty big reputation – an unprecedented three color labs turned it down for processing once they saw some of the footage it’s been slammed in the mainstream and genre press for being the most misogynistic torture film ever made and in contrast it’s been lauded as a masterpiece on par with the best of the 70s Italian grand guignol.