aka Psycho Cop 2
The vaguely remembered satanic police officer is back and although I don’t know if anyone had asked for a sequel, I have no problem watching Bob Vance… Vance Refrigeration getting his hands dirty with a fresh batch of victims. The serial quipper/killer overhears a few slimy businessmen talking about an afterhours party they’ll be throwing in their office. Said bachelor party will have strippers (Julie Strain works her magic!) booze and drugs… which catches the ear of the (I think) undead cop Joe Vickers. Instead of slapping on cuffs and dragging perpetrators downtown, he’s more of a fan of murdering those he deems guilty of his wrath. Just like a real cop! Which is fine, these dopes are kinda scuzzy, it’s the poor strippers you end up sympathizing with. Also, I mean, it’s Julie Fuckin’ Strain. There’s also a security guard willing to take bribes to look the other way, a hard working blonde who may be an accountant burning the midnight oil and two employees there afterhours to get their bone on in the copy room because if early 90’s business movies taught me anything, the bedroom is the only place horny people don’t have sex. Also, everyone is doing some kind of illegal substance to compliment their drinking problem… but that’s actually accurate. A pencil gets jammed into an eye, an elevator goes all wonky and leads to an office worker doing his best (and failing) to make it look like he’s being tossed around, strippers act like prostitutes (or is it possible they’re prostitutes acting like strippers?), sweaty sex is had (an HVAC team needs to check the vents in that file room), Psycho Cop reads a corpse his rights after shooting him in the forehead, a stripper (prostitute?) gets tossed off the building… right into a dumpster, plenty of faxes of faces are sent, a xerox machine gets put to good use, a drop ceiling harnesses supernatural powers with its ability to conceal two corpses (I used to install them, take my word for it), one dope channels his best Ted Raimi and even an axe to the belly can’t stop our killer. Psycho Cop has a passenger seat and glove compartment full of severed limbs which is exactly what I’d expect a psycho cop to have in his car. Julie Strain strips because she was a very talented woman, the lead douche looks like a Scott Bakula you tried to create as a playable wrestler in an N64 WWF game … Not Bakula if you will, there’s a stag film that appears to just be some dude in an afro wig sitting in a chair while two topless women dance and Psycho Cop has a little joke for every situation… which is exactly what I’d expect from someone slaughtering idiots in a slasher film from this time, especially someone who looks this much like an uncle you loved seeing at family parties. Robert R. Shafer is having a good time as the titular killer, Julie Strain rocks a cowboy hat and chaps (worth two and a half stars alone), the stupidity is more charming than annoying and everyone treats it like they’re in a demented comedy as opposed to a horror film which I’m completely fine with. The inverse Rodney King climax is… a choice.
No comments:
Post a Comment