Frank Zitto wades through the grime encrusted streets of NY city in search of nubile flesh in his unending quest to work out some mommy issues....
Bill (Blue Underground) Lustig's mad killer piece has a sleazy taste and attitude that's impossible to redo post-Giuliani. A crude, rude, repugnant slice of celluloid that's brutally effective in transgressing the decorum of good taste, yet as narrative the ultra-gory Maniac comes up short. Weakly written, it's a string of slaughters punctuated by ad-libbing and a strangely affecting relationship with a beautiful fashion photographer (Caroline Munroe) that Frank grows a twisted affection for & that seems to belong to a different movie. As a character piece though, Maniac is definitely a sort of sub-Taxi Driver riff with its voyeur's peek into Frank's Swiss cheese mind which sure is one greasy, squalid rat hole that you feel with *every* soiled inch. When not displaying some pretty young thang's insides, Lustig has the audience down in the gutter with Frank, witness to every pathetic whimper and fixation this greasy looking pack rat can conceive. Early on we glimpse some scars adorning his chest and a picture of mommy is glimpsed, but that's as far as we're allowed to wade into Frank's motivations, the rantings and clutter of his abode suggest a much deeper story than the audience is privy to.
This is such an ugly, ugly film: The dirt and filth of that bygone era of 42 st. NY,NY abounds throughout the hour and half were saddled with this crazed momma's boy, and when its all up, the sense of soiled disturbance sticks with you, adhering to the cracks & crevices of your body like spoiled lint. It's not even just the settings, its Spinell's disturbed mutterings & asides that put you in that zone of total puke mouth. The guy's an alien, so far from any kind of norm you have the same reaction you'd get from a particularly large spider. And through these lovably distorted lenses, New York City has never seemed lonelier, more suffocating, more damned. 70's urban angst really highlights modern life in that special heart-warming way. No doubt about it- the ugliness here has real purity. And it's this pure rot that's worth the price of admission, because its the perfect opposite to the spit shone, anti-septic fare you'd catch in the Di$ney-fied, post-facelift 42. Street of today. It's not attractive (not in the typical matinée sense) but damn if that's not a distinctive charming characteristic all its own. Movies that make you feel like taking a shower after should be treasured; it won't go away fast like some pre-chewed, airbrushed Hollywood floater. Disgusting & hard to digest in all the right ways, even despite the plethora of other problems riddling it. The ending is simply a totally hair-raising gross-out, letting the director go whole hog since the victim is the scalper himself. A truly fitting conclusion to a demented slice-o-life, matching the kookiness of the killer......had Bill resisted leaving an open- ended, he's-still-alive PEEKABOO Cliché SHOT!
Joe Spinell, as it's already been said elsewhere, really embodies this character with his pock-marked face and hefty bulk. This is no dashing demento ala Patrick Bateman; this is a seedy down-to-earth malcontent, his exterior mirroring the turmoil inside. I can even understand the small following for this character-actor after watching MANIAC. It sure was a surprise seeing him later opposite Stallone in ROCKY 1 & 2.
One seriously foul gust of air for aficionados, a grunge classic & a great double bill with Ferrara's DRILLER KILLER which has the same 70's urban trash ambiance and mad NY hero
Bill (Blue Underground) Lustig's mad killer piece has a sleazy taste and attitude that's impossible to redo post-Giuliani. A crude, rude, repugnant slice of celluloid that's brutally effective in transgressing the decorum of good taste, yet as narrative the ultra-gory Maniac comes up short. Weakly written, it's a string of slaughters punctuated by ad-libbing and a strangely affecting relationship with a beautiful fashion photographer (Caroline Munroe) that Frank grows a twisted affection for & that seems to belong to a different movie. As a character piece though, Maniac is definitely a sort of sub-Taxi Driver riff with its voyeur's peek into Frank's Swiss cheese mind which sure is one greasy, squalid rat hole that you feel with *every* soiled inch. When not displaying some pretty young thang's insides, Lustig has the audience down in the gutter with Frank, witness to every pathetic whimper and fixation this greasy looking pack rat can conceive. Early on we glimpse some scars adorning his chest and a picture of mommy is glimpsed, but that's as far as we're allowed to wade into Frank's motivations, the rantings and clutter of his abode suggest a much deeper story than the audience is privy to.
This is such an ugly, ugly film: The dirt and filth of that bygone era of 42 st. NY,NY abounds throughout the hour and half were saddled with this crazed momma's boy, and when its all up, the sense of soiled disturbance sticks with you, adhering to the cracks & crevices of your body like spoiled lint. It's not even just the settings, its Spinell's disturbed mutterings & asides that put you in that zone of total puke mouth. The guy's an alien, so far from any kind of norm you have the same reaction you'd get from a particularly large spider. And through these lovably distorted lenses, New York City has never seemed lonelier, more suffocating, more damned. 70's urban angst really highlights modern life in that special heart-warming way. No doubt about it- the ugliness here has real purity. And it's this pure rot that's worth the price of admission, because its the perfect opposite to the spit shone, anti-septic fare you'd catch in the Di$ney-fied, post-facelift 42. Street of today. It's not attractive (not in the typical matinée sense) but damn if that's not a distinctive charming characteristic all its own. Movies that make you feel like taking a shower after should be treasured; it won't go away fast like some pre-chewed, airbrushed Hollywood floater. Disgusting & hard to digest in all the right ways, even despite the plethora of other problems riddling it. The ending is simply a totally hair-raising gross-out, letting the director go whole hog since the victim is the scalper himself. A truly fitting conclusion to a demented slice-o-life, matching the kookiness of the killer......had Bill resisted leaving an open- ended, he's-still-alive PEEKABOO Cliché SHOT!
Joe Spinell, as it's already been said elsewhere, really embodies this character with his pock-marked face and hefty bulk. This is no dashing demento ala Patrick Bateman; this is a seedy down-to-earth malcontent, his exterior mirroring the turmoil inside. I can even understand the small following for this character-actor after watching MANIAC. It sure was a surprise seeing him later opposite Stallone in ROCKY 1 & 2.
One seriously foul gust of air for aficionados, a grunge classic & a great double bill with Ferrara's DRILLER KILLER which has the same 70's urban trash ambiance and mad NY hero