A woman cowering in fear. A masked madman brandishing a butcher knife. "Demons long locked in the depths of the mind come out to destroy the weak and believing!" Explore "the outer limits of fear". That's the poster. I don't think I've ever seen a movie so misrepresented by the advertising. Or happier about it. Not another tired, early 70s slasher film by any means, this riot is about a sleazy side-burned lounge singer (Peter Carpenter) picked up by a sleazier female record promoter (Dyanne Thorne) who sees something special in the guy. We can guess what it is, since most of the movie is shot at Carpenter's crotch level. Meanwhile, Thorne's jealous wheelchair-bound husband isn't going to take his wife's infidelity sitting down. Enter Thorne's kittenish daughter Lots of wonderfully bad faux 70s pop songs, over-heated dialogue and teeth-gnashing, and two outlandish murders. Dig it.
Review of Point of Terror
