With
no real warning, we open in the thick of
it as the narrator, our killer, spouts off
his self-aggrandizing, narcissistic
diatribe, making light of his victim's
unawareness of his random acts of violence
... First he shoots some unsuspecting
person in a car, and then attacks and
kills a woman with a knife -- both in
broad daylight, both on a populated street,
while wearing banana-nose glasses --
before the opening credits even roll.
As
the killer's cerebral rants continue,
bragging up his current reign of terror and
killing spree, he taunts the audience
about his ability to blend in. He could be
a stranger, or friend, or the quiet guy
who lives next door. It doesn't matter. He
could kill you. Anytime. Anywhere. And
you'd never see it coming...
"The
motion picture you are about to see was
conceived in 1970. Its goal is not win
commercial awards but to create an
'awareness of the present danger.' [The
Zodiac Killer] is based on known facts.
If some of the scenes, dialogue, and
letters seem strange and unreal,
remember - they happened. His victims
received no warnings. They were
unsuspecting people like you..."
--
Paul Aver :: The San Francisco Chronicle
It's
a little depressing when I mention the
names David Faraday, Betty Lou Johnson,
Darlene Ferrin, Mike Mageau, Cecelia
Shepard, Bryan Hartnell and Paul Stine,
you won't have a clue as to who I'm
talking about. And what's even more
depressing, if I say, Zodiac Killer, you'd
probably know about him -- or at least
have some recognition of who that was. That's
just the way it is, I guess. We hardly
ever remember the names of the victims (--
unless you're directly affected by the
tragedy),
but the killers will live on forever in
infamy, film, stories and true crime
novels. My
point here is not to preach. I'm as guilty
as the rest of you ... I didn't know who
those people were, either, until I did a
little research for this review. Yeah, I
already knew who the Zodiac Killer was.
Make that I knew what the Zodiac
Killer was ... For those
of you who don't, the Zodiac was a real
serial killer that terrorized northern
California in the late 1960's. It is
believed that he killed seven people,
possibly more, and one victim who claims
to have escaped his clutches. And during his
reign of terror, he wrote taunting letters
to the newspapers and the police, bragging
himself up, and even offered a cryptogram that,
when deciphered, would reveal his true
identity.
Eventually,
the code was broken, but his identity
remained unattainable. And then it all
abruptly and inexplicably stopped. Some
believe he was arrested for another crime,
others think he somehow died, or he's still out there.
Regardless, the Zodiac was never caught
and his identity remains a mystery. Over
the years, there have been several
suspects, including a member of the Manson
Family, and one theory even points the
finger at Ted Kaczynski -- a/k/a the
Unabomber. For more information on the
Zodiac, click on over to The
Zodiac Killer.com.
The
Zodiac -- not this film, mind you --
definitely put his stamp on Hollywood, as
well. Serving as the basis for Harry
Callahan's first nemesis, Scorpio, in Dirty
Harry,
his actions -- the letters, manifesto and
motives -- set the template for many a
serial killer movie to come. And to
possibly cash in on both that film and the
killer's lingering notoriety, came a
no-budget exploitation quickie, The
Zodiac Killer.
As
with most bio-pics of this nature and
type, the filmmakers took quite a few
dramatic liberties for The Zodiac
Killer. Director Tom Hanson and
screenwriters Ray Cantrell and Manny
Cardoza, were all graduates of the Coleman
Francis / Anthony Cardoza school of
filmmaking, and with the likes of The
Hellcats and Bigfoot under
their belts, were no strangers to
exploitation pieces. They claim to only
want to tell the truth. And they did. The
truth being that these kind of cheap
exploitation knock-offs always made money.
Meanwhile,
we've
yet to see who the killer is or what he
truly looks like in the film either, which means we must root through
a few suspects. And, as usual, when it
comes to these types of killers, their
narcissistic fueled bravado doesn't
exactly match up to the miserable losers
they really and truly are.
Our
first suspect, Grover McDerry (Bob
Jones), is a truck driver, bad
toupee-wearer, and one-half of a bitter
divorce settlement -- and the mere mention
of his ex-wife will trigger a full-blown psychotic episode in our boy, Grover.
Returning to his apartment, Grover gets
his mail from Jerry (Hal
Reed), the postman, but all he gets
are bills, and after catching hell from his
landlady over the back rent he owes,
Grover finds more bad news inside as his wife,
Helen (Dion Marinkovich), is
there waiting for him, wanting her child
support payments. Told that if he
refuses to pay up he can't see their daughter
anymore, Grover,
of course, goes ballistic and threatens to
kill her ... Next, we leave Grover
for a while, to get a peek into the life
of a postal worker as Jerry heads home,
where he listens to some strange stories from his
neighbor about dames being plump, and
evil, and as dumb as leftovers. (The
hell?)
Inside, we can't
help but notice one wall
of Jerry's apartment is dominated by a
series of rabbit hutches. Checking in on
the animals, our boy is soon overwrought when
discovering that Leo, his favorite bunny,
has passed on. (You have to feed
them, ya know.) Cradling the
deceased bunny, Jerry laments over why
evil people get to live when innocent
woodland creatures have to die (--
when you don't feed them.)
Moving
back to Grover, we see he's preparing for a night
on the town by donning a hideous helmet of
hair
(-- Style B: The Ted Koppel), a
plaid leisure suit, and then completes his
accessorizing with a snub nosed revolver. (And
yes, I think we're supposed to notice the
poster of the naked woman with large
breasts tacked onto his mirror.)
Fully loaded, he heads to a
singles bar, where miraculously, he
attracts not one, but four, women! When
this gaggle proves quite a handful, Grover spots Jerry
and begs him for reinforcements. But when Jerry
turns him down, Grover accuses the
timid postman of being "a faggot."
However, Grover quickly apologizes and Jerry, with
his manhood on the line, agrees to join
the party ... Commandeering
a corner booth, though he warns the ladies
not to touch his hair, Grover's hair helmet
inevitably gets knocked off. It was an
accident, but Grover is humiliated, and
when he inevitably goes bonkers, Jerry
must push him away before he takes his
anger out on the toupee-tipper. Both men
are asked to leave the bar.
Meanwhile,
out at Lover's Lane, a young couple take
part in some passionate pre-marital
necking until a flashlight illuminates the
cab. When the man opens the window to see who's
spying on them, he is shot dead. The
terrified woman tries to get away, but the killer
empties his revolver into her, too ... The
next morning, while the cops investigate
the crime scene and chase their tails with
the usual suspects, we find Grover and his
toupee in bed, recovering from a hangover.
Jerry's hungover, too, and they meet by
happenstance in a cafe, where Jerry is
appalled that they're offering rabbit stew
as the lunch special and Grover has no luck
schmoozing the surly waitress, who
eventually tells him to get bent. Rebuffed
and rejected, Grover storms off ... That
evening, after the surly waitress offers
to give the short-order cook a ride home,
they get into her car and begin to talk
about life's problems. Suddenly, we spot a
flashlight coming toward them. Bang. Bang.
Bang.
Fearing
they have a spree killer on their hands,
the local authorities form a task force
led by by Detective Pittman (Ray
Lynch). But with no leads, no
witnesses, and no motive, the
investigation goes nowhere fast.
Having a record for narcotics possession,
urinating in someone's drink (!?!), and
several assaults on women, Grover is
brought in during the latest round-up of
usual suspects for some routine
questioning. At
some point during the interrogation, the
surly SOB realizes that
they're looking for a killer, and that he's
a suspect, and when they ask to look at
his gun, he loses his temper and tells
them to take a flying leap. Interview
over.
A
few days later, a reporter at the San
Francisco Chronicle receives a package: a
letter from the killer, who calls himself
Zodiac, and a copy of his manifesto.
Apparently, the killer wants the paper to print that manifesto
exactly, and also warns that if they
don't, he will kill more people. Zodiac
also taunts them with a strange cipher,
saying if they can break the code they
will have his true identity. The civic
minded reporter calls Pittman and turns
the letter and cipher over to him ... But
the paper still prints the story and the
code.
After
his dust up with the police, an even
surlier Grover goes to his ex-wife's house
and demands to see his daughter. Helen
refuses, accuses him of being doped-up
again, and threatens to call the police if
he doesn't leave. Since she has full
custody there's nothing he can do, but
still wanting his half, Grover heads to
the garage and retrieves a saw (--
though I don't think this is quite what
Solomon had in mind...) When
the police arrive just as Grover rousts
his daughter, Judy, out of her bedroom, he
pushes Judy away, draws his pistol and
opens fire. The cops return fire and chase
the estranged husband into the backyard. And as they close
in, Grover screams out that he is the
Zodiac before the police shoot him dead;
his body falling back into the pool, where
it slowly sinks to the bottom.
Case
closed? Nope. Shortly after Grover's
demise, Pittman
receives a phone call. The caller read the
papers and says Grover's claims were a
hoax. He is the real Zodiac, and after
providing
details that back up his claim, he asks Pittman if
they've solved the cryptogram
yet, and then taunts him further, saying "Solve
it and you solve me." Also of
note, before
the killer hangs up, he
demands more headlines ... At
the other end of the line, our true
culprit is revealed to be Jerry (--
insert your own 'gone postal' joke, here),
who turns to a strange shrine covered in
runes and odd symbols, to which he rants
about how the people he killed will be his
slaves in the next life, and that it's
necessary to collect more slaves before he
crosses over to the other side. Screwed-in-the-head Jerry then ends his rant by
announcing that Atlantis shall rise again.
Next,
we have two bizarre vignettes: One is
unintentionally funny, as a young couple
stumbles upon Jerry having a cookout on
the beach. When Jerry demands that the
girl sing "Auld Lang Syne"
she does, but Jerry's odd behavior
continues, turning things sinister, so
they quickly excuse themselves. As they
leave, the boyfriend exclaims "There's
something weird about that guy." (...And
your first clue was?) The
second vignette finds children playing at
a playground, under the less than
attentive eye of their parents. When one of the
little rodents gets stuck up a tree, guess who pops up out of nowhere to help?
Old psycho-boy himself. And after he helps
the kid down, the mother comments on how
nice and helpful the young man was.
This
is followed by a recreation of the true Zodiac killer's most infamous
murder ... Wearing a black executioner's hood
and black sweatshirt, with the Zodiac
symbol stamped on the front, Jerry tromps
out of the forest and spots a couple
lounging by the lake. I guess only around
San Francisco is this kind of thing considered normal, so the couple doesn't
panic at his appearance until he pulls a
gun. Saying he's an escaped con, who claims he will only tie them up and steal
their car, after Jerry binds the terrified
but pliant couple he
brutally stabs them both to death. The
deed done, Jerry gathers
up a few souvenirs and leaves the cops another
taunting message, written in lipstick, on
the victims' car. While he writes, he
flashes back to the killings -- and I
believe he's writing the note with only
one hand because the other hand is busy.
(You figure it out.) The message
claims responsibility for all the killings
so far, giving their date and location,
and he even goes so far as to call the
police and report the latest attack,
himself
His
murder lust satisfied, if ever so briefly,
Jerry returns to his mail route, where he
is mistaken for the pizza boy by a
desperate old woman, who drags him into her
apartment for a ... well, special
delivery. But Jerry emerges seconds later,
pulling his pants up, with a desperate,
donut-glazed look in his eye.
(Is the man sexually frustrated, lost
without a clue about the horizontal bop --
is this why he's turned homicidal? I
believe we're supposed to think so.) That
little incident also triggers another rash
of homicides, starting when Jerry offers
to help an old woman fix a flat -- a flat
he caused by shooting out the tire. But he
beats the woman to death with the spare,
and then knocks the car off the jack so it
lands on top of her, just for the heck of
it ... As his
reign of terror continues, he next kills a
taxi driver, shooting him in the face
after driving him to where he wanted to
go. (Nice
friggin' tip.) People heard the
shots and called the police, who throw out
a large net, but again, Jerry's perceived
normalcy gets him through the dragnet. He
even flags down a passing patrolmen,
saying he spotted the killer -- who went
thataway. Jerry laughs as the car roars
off.
Later,
we find Jerry's in his favorite watering hole,
listening to a radio report about his
latest homicidal escapades. When the
bartender can't believe they haven't
caught that degenerate yet, Jerry offers
that maybe the killer is as normal as he
is. But the bartender says the killer
would never be able to fool him like that.
After Jerry leaves, we see the Zodiac sign
drawn in the spilled salt where he was
sitting. Once more, the bartender comments
on how nice a guy Jerry is as his bar
towel erases the evidence.
With
the bodies piling up, Pittman is beginning
to grasp at straws and reluctantly agrees
to consult the famed psychic, Aaron Kozlow.
After making their way through his
entourage, the psychic gives them a
reading. Despite Pittman's obvious
skepticism, the medium senses vibrations
that tell him the killer is a charmer, but
is really frightened of women; he used to
be a civil service employee; but now he works
with automobiles; a body shop; a detailer;
and has access to many automobiles. The
psychic also keeps hearing water.
(What? Is he hearing Atlantis surfacing?
What a quack.) But
while the cops consult the psychic
hotline, Jerry is back on the rampage as
he kills a man in an elevator, taking an
ear as a souvenir. He then picks up a
hitchhiker, who realizes his dubious
intentions and tries to get away. But
Jerry runs her down and stabs her to
death. On
his way back into town, Jerry stops to
help another stalled motorist. First
checking under the hood, he then asks the elderly driver
to help. Instructing her to hold the
carburetor open while he tries to start
it, Jerry slams the car hood shut on top
of her, and then crawls on top of the hood
and starts jumping, crushing the woman
underneath. Finished, he drags the body
into the car and pushes it over a cliff.
His
murder lust seemingly satisfied again,
Jerry pays a visit to a local hospice to
visit his father. (At
least I'm going to assume it's his
father.) He passes Mr. Quigley (George
Fryette), whose recuperating from a
heart attack, resting in a rollaway chair
outside and says hi. Heading in, Jerry
finds the cell -- What kind of hospital is
this? -- where his father is being held.
Their conversation is completely one-sided
as Jerry begs him to say something,
anything, to give him a sign of affection.
These pleas continue until Jerry hears his
father urinating, followed by a toilet
flushing. With that, Jerry flies into rage
over this repeated rejection, so he's
asked to leave ... On his way out,
Jerry sneaks into another room and kills a
patient. Outside, he pushes Mr. Quigley's
chair down a hill, where the old man careens
out of control until eventually crashing into
a subway entrance, but he was already dead;
his heart couldn't take the ride.
Our
movie then ends as it began, with Jerry's
narration, escorting us as we walk down
busy street. No one is aware that a
homicidal maniac walks amongst them, who
taunts the audience further, saying the
police won't do anything to stop him. They
can't stop him. He's still on the loose,
and there are plenty more like him running
amok. And he won't stop. Ever. Because "I
like what I'm doing too much."
His psycho babble continues -- it is not I
who am crazy, it is I who am mad
blah-blah-blah I can't get it up. And as he
helps an old lady to cross the street,
Jerry signs off, promising us all that "I'll
be seeing you."
This
Is
Not
The
End
I
will give this wonky film a lot of points
for at least attempting to let us
know who the victims are (were?),
as before each person is killed, the film
takes a brief hiatus where we get a quick peek
into their lives before they're ended --
by no fault of their own. It's an attempt
to show that these are real, normal
people, just caught in the wrong place at
the wrong time. It seems a little silly,
but the film wouldn't have worked without
them, because it really helps bring home the
film's big central theme of the randomness
of the killer.
For
some reason films like this bug me. I
don't know if it's the low-budget
auteurness -- the sleaze noir, if you will
-- that gives it a quasi-documentary feel,
making things seem a little too real, or
what. You get the feeling, an almost
impending sense of dread, and dare I say
helplessness, that this is something you
really shouldn't be watching at all. It is
grim, gritty, and rings true despite
several instances where it gets more than
a little goofy.
The
movie's central theme does ring out, loud and
clear. Are we really safe? Probably not.
Jerry is a putz. Just like you and me (--
without the homicidal tendencies of
course.) Hannibal Lector is a work
of fiction, and his exploits are pretty
damned ridiculous, as are most films
depicting nigh-omnipotent serial killers. (A
genre I really don't care for and find
extremely silly -- including Silence
of the Lambs.)
So unlike it's brethren, The
Zodiac Killer
doesn't glorify the killer, and that makes
it infinitely harder to watch and endure.
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