Another serial killer movie, and this one’s so bad it reaffirms how often we take even mediocre pictures for granted. Really bad movies (and Fall Down Dead is so bad it barely even counts as a movie) point to the amount of work that goes into the process of sustaining even the flimsiest of illusions. We feel each non-actor trying their damnedest to give their clearly-written bad lines the ring of casual conversation; and we feel director Jon Keeyes’s desperation as he labors, with nudity and cheesy gore and comically inapt, hyperbolic music cues, to create some sort of tension. This is one of those B-movies that prompt dozens of idle thoughts; you can’t stay in the picture for any more than a moment or two without wondering if your girlfriend is bringing dinner on her way home from work. You might also wonder how anyone could make a movie like this after the decades of parodying and re-contextualizing and re-contextualizing of re-contextualizing that the serial killer movie has been through. This picture’s bad guy, The Picasso Killer (Udo Kier), wouldn’t cut it as the heavy of Donald Kauffman’s The Three. Kier is admirably game; he somehow manages to convince you that he believes his lines, but David Carradine sleepwalks through his bit as a Keystone security guard knowing he’ll somehow make you smile anyway. The only thing more amusing (and sad) than Carradine’s lack of sincerity is Keeye’s claim that he was aiming for a picture in the stylistic tradition of Psycho and Notorious.
Since 2001, we've brought you uncompromising, candid takes on the world of film, music, television, video games, theater, and more. Independently owned and operated publications like Slant have been hit hard in recent years, but we’re committed to keeping our content free and accessible—meaning no paywalls or fees.
If you like what we do, please consider subscribing to our Patreon or making a donation.
