Who is killing the women in Marianna Hill's therapy group? Is it the creepy psychiatrist Klaus Kinski? His troubled yet cute daughter Donna Wilkes (who has a brief nude scene that I had been dreaming about since McLean Stevenson's forgotten sitcom "Hello Larry")? Marianna's grinning ex-husband Craig Wasson? What about a young Christopher Lloyd, the bitter handyman? Or even the even younger looking detective Joe Regalbuto? Hill plays an advice columnist who is having more problems than a week's worth of Ann Landers letters. She is receiving death threats, and someone is killing the women in her group with a large pair of scissors. The killer, whom I figured out right away, wears a fedora and coat, a striking silhouette in the un-scary killing scenes. Hill is also messing around with the chain smoking Kinski, resulting in a sex scene I could have gone all my life without seeing. Kinski is sleeping with a stripper/patient, and he, uh, "analyzes her feelings" against a hot water heater, resulting in another sex scene I could have gone my whole life without seeing. The finale takes place in Hill's newspaper office, as the film makers drag the proceedings out by assembling all of the suspects together, like an Agatha Christie novel, except with shootings and stabbings instead of a parlor full of upper class Brits and a brilliant detective.
Filmed and released in 1980, this has all the makings of a slasher film. The few killings here are not all that gory, but violent. The name cast try their best. Paulsen's direction is void of suspense as he hopes his mediocre script will carry the film. Instead, it becomes gimmicky and silly, but trudges along like this is Shakespeare. Between the awful synth score (the scissors have their own theme when they appear) and Kinski's overbaked performance, a viewer must take this with a grain of salt. I cannot recommend this.
