The New York Ripper

Roman director Lucio Fulci returns to the “giallo” by pouring all his pessimism regarding humanity into this controversial work brimming with such brutality and visual violence that it signals the death knell of the genre.

From a storytelling point of view, we encounter a classic narrative structure, but things take a decidedly different tack on the figurative and representational fronts. The cinematography highlights the filthiest and most sordid aspects of the metropolis, while the sadistic and extremely savage murders (the killer uses a knife, a razorblade, and even a jagged broken bottle) are shown with morbid attention to detail, and the sex is as explicit as it is devoid of any erotic value.

As for the accusations of misogyny often hurled at the film, I have to say that they’re not entirely unfounded, especially considering some inopportune dialogue that crops in places (lines such as “I don’t know what the hell girls see in that guy“, directed at the presumed serial killer, seemingly convey the idea that the victims somehow asked for it).

Finally, for the umpteenth time the director reaffirms his contempt for “head shrinkers”, this time represented by a young physician who thinks he’s a genius, but is really just an incomparably useless poser.

Numerous self-references: the severed hand recalls “Zombie”, the assassin’s voice reappears in “Don’t Torture a Duckling”, the ripped-out eyeball is featured in a good portion of Fulci’s filmography (“The Beyond”, “Zombie 2”, etc.).