(There's a secondary motivation that vaguely involves a boyhood discovery of a half-clad female corpse near some desert train tracks. A fashion photographer, the German slasher barks something to an adult-video store manager that he is here to set American cities on fire in his quiet moments, he dwells on images of the World Trade Center attacks.īut all this is hokum, a desperate device to give the killer, a Nazi officer's grandson, a high-concept casus belli. In his gleaming muscle car, the dour maniac trolls Las Vegas looking for victims whose lurid clothes and pole dances titillate and enrage him. So says the killer, who crusades against the vices in which he takes part. Maybe this story is a wider diatribe against America. Is it an attack on the female sex? It certainly seems to be, and when mutilations of undressed women are restaged ceaselessly to the point of banality, the movie proceeds with a ritual goring of preteenage girls. Palumbo is trying to say in his debased film. His horrors are perpetrated by a fictional German-born serial killer who makes his mission clear with every thrust of knife blade and pelvis, acts often committed in tandem. The director Nick Palumbo in his "Murder-Set-Pieces" is determined to shock.
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