Sam is a very successful businessman who has just secured a big deal. Money’s coming his way and he’s giddy with dollars. I see too much cocaine in his future. Sam plans to surprise his wife Ruth with a little red sports car.
But, she’s not the only person in for a surprise.
Ruth is cheating on Sam with a cop. Surprise! The cop more or less wears the same panties as she does. Surprise! Ruth is wearing a blond hair-metal wig. Surprise!
Ruth and her lover roll around in the bedroom. There’s enthusiastic butt-rubbing and kissing noises. Sam, of course, comes home. Surprise! He sees a pair of men’s shoes. They don’t smell good. He knows they don’t smell good because he smells them. If you ever see a random pair of shoes, then my recommendation is to sniff them. Only then will you be absolutely sure that they smell bad.
On the table, Sam sees a pack of cigarettes and two wine glasses that are half full, or should I say half empty. Suspicions rise.
He walks into the bedroom where he finds his wife and the cop in bed. He reaches for the cop’s gun, and two shots later, the deed is done.
“All women are alike. They don’t deserve to live.”
Commence the killing spree! He picks up a “daytime whore” and they drive around Las Vegas. Many left and right turns are taken because they drive in real time. They end up in a parking lot behind a dumpster. He ties her up. The hooker looks at Sam.
“What do you want?”
“I want head!”
He takes Ruth’s head out of a bag, hair-metal wig and all. Surprise!
The hooker is laid back about it. She undersells it with a few muted, blasé screams.
Now there’s a baby shower in progress. Ladies with frizzy hair and comfy shorts drink beer and eat donuts. It’s my kind of party. They try on bathing suits. They body shame. They hair shame. Then they play a card game. In real time. There are mumbled conversations about mundane things, like nails. They mutter, talk over each other, and hedge. There are awkward pauses and blank stares. One woman forgets another one’s name. It’s not the finest ad libbing, but it is incredibly absorbing and entertaining. This whole sequence can only be described as not urgent. All of the sudden, the film has no place to be or go. It’s kicking back and cold chilling and pizza is literally ordered, delivered, and eaten. The action completely stalls and it is completely worth it. Las Vegas Bloodbath turns into Las Vegas Baby Shower.
Then suddenly, there’s an oil wrestling match. Surprise! It’s B.L.O.W., or Beautiful Ladies Oil Wrestling. It’s like G.L.O.W. only no showmanship, artistry, rivalry, glittery capes, or dramatic eye makeup.
Eventually the killing continues, including a few incredibly exploitive, mean-spirited murders. It involves a knife and a fetus. This is a film that came to press buttons and shock and it succeeded. As the movie continues, there’s more and more gore. Necks are sliced, arms are severed, heads are drilled. A leg is ripped off and dragged behind a car. The final scene is a spectacle that gloriously ruined a bathroom. This is a film that is true to its title.
Las Vegas Bloodbath is a sleazy, low-budget, shot-on-video tale of a man who descends into lady-murder madness, but it’s so much more than that. It’s one part slasher and ten parts ladies hanging out. As we know, there are many recipes for success, and this is one of them. Writer, director, and producer David Schwartz is unapologetically exploitive and he does not care about your feelings. For this reason, Las Vegas Bloodbath is not a movie for civilians; it’s for warriors who can stomach watching a man rip a baby from a womb and fling it across the room. It’s for warriors who can stomach watching ten minutes of aggressively mediocre oil wrestling. It’s for warriors who can stomach long scenes where people play cards and talk about hair. It’s not for everyone, but it is for me.