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FATAL IMAGES (1989)
Directed by Dennis Devine
Active Home Video VHS
Reviewed 02.01.07
Review by Joseph A. Ziemba
THE FILM
Is it getting hot in here?
After the concepts of wearing one's
pajamas under one's clothes ("It
saves time at night!") and
decorating police stations with
spice racks and Lethal Weapon
posters were introduced, sweat started
pouring from my brow. Something
was simmering.
Fatal Images is a shot
on video (SOV) volcano. At the outset,
you'd never know it. 95 minutes
later, you'll more than know it.
It IS hot in here. Lava is bubbling.
The time is nigh.
Serial killer Mr. Cosgrove is an
aesthete. You see, "His murders
are like works of art!", so
we know his V-DELUX camera-which-takes-your-picture-and-then-you-die
schtick is no put-on. Ten years
after Cosgrove commits suicide via
snapshot (whoa!), the camera appears
in Lucky Eric's pawnshop aka someone's
garage. Amy, a photographer who
wages the dynamic battle of money
vs. art, buys it. She takes photos
of colorful people. They die, yet
her prints seem to telegraph each
death AFTER it happens. Ingenius.
The plot thickens! Cosgrove's Satanic
ghost. Arms ripped off. Jen, Amy's
roommate and her curious pajama
habits. Rick, an angelic nerd. Guts
pulled out. A bikini model who says
"pitcher" instead of "picture".
Father Dana, purveyor of the splatter-paint
dress shirt. Then, from out of nowhere,
the band "Teaser" crushes
the world's gonads with Rock music
that weighs nearly three tons, yet
floats by on a cat-screamed feather.
And then the guy in the bar with
those goofy sunglasses sounds like
Dan Aykroyd when he --
KA-BOOM.
Silence. The ash descends. My hair
is smoldering. I can't remember
my Mother's maiden name. I feel
really good.
Fatal Images wasn't filmed
in another universe ala Tales
From The Quadead Zone.
And, unlike Boarding
House, the sleaze content
lies a bit low. No, this is a new
kind of SOV epic. Therefore, I can
offer no criticism.
Director-writer Dennis Devine (Dead
Girls) spread out $10,000,
obsessed over extreme close-ups,
and had faith in way-too-loud sound
effects. The resulting debut introduced
a new cosmopolitan awareness. Art?
Satan? Teaser? I want it all. Fatal
Images is ingrained with the
living room production values of
The Hackers, the violent
spittle of Spine,
and the hysterical datedness of
Woodchipper
Massacre. It's a triumphant
funnel of SOV charm that learns
from these peers and doesn't degrade.
The film pounces upon its initial
bashfulness, building to a confused
crescendo that offers lots of irrational
behavior, odd creeps, and luscious
late 80s hilarity. I could go on
forever, but this has been a long
day.
I'm bushed. Glad I can just pull
my pants off and skip that whole
"change into pajamas"
part. It really does save time!
AUDIO AND VIDEO
Picture-wise, this is a standard
SOV experience; desaturated, flat,
and a little hazy. The audio department,
however, needs help. A constant
hi-pitched squeal, rapidly fluctuating
volume, and low, muffled dialogue
constantly threatened to disrupt
the mood. That proved to be impossible.
EXTRAS
"Oh, these pitchers are very
good. Very artistic."
FINAL THOUGHTS
Curb thy expectations. Covet thy
pajamas. The extremely rare Fatal
Images explodes with a bit
of everything, yet somehow keeps
both feet on the ground. It never
gets old. Place this essential SOV
very, very high on the list. |
Officer, I plead the fifth
J.C. Penney's would object
Tease tease me
Girl, check out my knife!
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