Murder-Set-Pieces

I've watched Murder-Set-Pieces twice and the truth is I'm still really conflicted about the film.

Writer/Producer/Director Nick Palumbo has done his best to deliver the reddest and gooiest goods in his 2004 release, Murder-Set-Pieces, a definite candidate for the ugliest horror movie of last year, and I mean ugly in a down and dirty horror way.

The plot is simple: a serial rapist-killer is making ground sirloin out of the lower tier models and prostitutes of Las Vegas. In an odd variation of most serial killer/exploitative flicks, the local police are non-existent and the kidnapped and murdered victims are not missed. No rumple suited detective ever appears, which is a clear indication of Murder-Set-Pieces' focus. This movie is all about the lowest depths of a human shark that kills and maims for joyless pleasure.

With Vegas offering an endless buffet of lovely flesh to rape, torture and mutilate, the story follows the aimless rampage of a sick slice of German beefcake known simply as The Photographer. Numerous flashbacks and bad dreams lay the foundation of the haunted man's troubled past, showing "it made me a killer" past experiences: Nazi heritage, twisted relationship with prostitute mother, abuse of girl dolls as a child. The straight razor welding Photographer spouts German whenever aroused or enraged, and is the victim of nosebleeds, both of which happen frequently. A self-admitted "bastard son of a whore", I admit the character is as unstable and unrelenting as any killers I've ever seen on screen. The Photographer is also one of the blandest. If Dee Snider's Captain Howdy character from Strangeland was a colorful, yet stylized sadistic villain, Sven Garrett's Photographer is played as a slaughterhouse sledgehammer. It's powerful early on, but the lack of personality from our killer eventually bored me, and I didn't find his blood soaked body count entertaining or exploitative. The Photographer jumps through all the appropriate psycho killer hoops and has a well supplied torture chamber in a secret basement accessed through the floor of his closet equipped with all the toys a sadistic freak would want. Our madman uses everything but the kitchen sink to butcher his victims with infinite cruelty. More than once we see the killer maliciously fucking women with malignant intent and lack of pleasure. It's the mean spirited tone more than the graphic images that's disturbing. And the odd thing is there are plenty of truly shocking and disturbing parts to the film not as obvious as the grue splattered regularly on the screen.

A couple of these smaller bits still haunt me:

There is a rape scene that ends with the camera trained on a dolls face, and while that image dominates the screen, the sounds we're left to listen to evoke either a continued sexual assault or some other gruesome possibility. The second is of a wailing infant, left alive to toddle down a hallway and embrace his dead mother's cooling body. Those are the kind of genius moments Palumbo uses his ample gift to teases us with, but so often just tosses the bucket of blood.

Nick Palumbo is a man of obvious talent. He knows how to make a horror movie and even though this film isn't meant to scare the audience, I believe it is well within his abilities to do so. I just keep asking myself "why make this movie this way? " If it's simply to be the kick-ass gross-out nasty-ass flick of 2004, well, consider yourself crowned by this reviewer. But somehow I wanted more than the series of title-mentioned set pieces. Where Murder-Set-Pieces suffers is in its story, or the absence there of. The film slips because of the lack of an actual plot to frame and propel it. I felt unceremoniously dropped into The Photographer's world of photo shoots, weightlifting and brutal mayhem with no real beginning, middle or end. The movie take a puzzling turn when his odd obsession with his girlfriend's little sister Jade (newcomer Jade Risser) eventually leads him to begin murdering young girls. This change of course could have pushed Murder-Set-Pieces into the upper tier of all-time exploitation films but the young female victims cause Palumbo to change his on-screen tactics. Suddenly the very personal sexual violence, torture, and extreme bloodletting vanish, replaced by posed young victims with cut throats and bashed skulls. Why even introduce this new twist if it slows down the momentum and eases the hammering to our guts you'd worked so hard for?

The production elements of the films are all superior. Brendan Flynt does an excellent job as the cinematographer, though I do think the film could have done without the use of his 9/11 footage. Toe Tag Picture's special make-up effects are often so deliciously moist that all that black blood masks the best parts of their work. Todd Ramsey's editing is top notch work throughout as is the music, which is credited to a handful of talented contributors such as The Bronx Casket Company, Zombi, Necrophagia, Eric Galligan and The Giallos Flame. And Palumbo does a very good job with his direction, confident in what he wants his audience to experience. On the acting front, guest appearances by some classic genre actors top the credits.

Gunnar Hansen, Tony Todd and Ed Neal all appear in single scene bit parts, none of which really spice up the film but will certainly come in handy on the DVD box credits. Cerina Vincent of Cabin Fever fame also makes an appearance. But the core of the film lies with Sven Garrett and Jade Risser's performances as, respectively, the Photographer and Jade, the young girl who doesn't have a good feeling about her sister's strange boyfriend.

The story doesn't ask much of either actor but both do what they can with their roles. Garrett's portrayal of the Photographer as an enraged man giving into his most foul demons at the expense of the women of Las Vegas is not as well rounded as I might have hoped. There is little intrigue about the character. He is a vicious sociopath with no real sense of style, humor or charm and seems merely a vessel for Palumbo to stage his stomach churning scenes of sexual brutality. Ms. Risser's Jade character could also have been more interesting if the story had allowed her to be so. The majority of her scenes merely serve to convey her dislike and mistrust of the Photographer. Even when Jade's friend disappearance pushes her to action, it seems a little flat when she decides to hitchhike to the Photographer's house to find some answers. But again, it's the limitations of the story that makes gauging their performances difficult.

When I reached the film's climax I'd had enough of the carnage. But even so, and despite what may seem to be a not-so-positive review, I would recommend all you cinematic gore hounds out there to see Murder-Set-Pieces for yourself. If you're into the tough to watch sub-genre of films like Last House on the Left, I Spit on Your Grave, The House on The Edge of The Park and Cannibal Holocaust, Murder-Set-Pieces will be a welcome addition to your collection. If you're looking for a bloodier, gorier cousin to Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer, what you'll find is a much more distant relative.

I personally look forward to what Mr. Palumbo decides to do next. Will he make a movie as entertaining as it is twisted? It's obvious that Nick Palumbo is more than up to the challenge.