An odd, absorbing and even touching low-budget stalk'n'slash meditation on viciously enforced puritanical mores, obsession, psycho killers, sex, nudity, bold-faced cinematic ineptitude, paltry production values and, most importantly, the profound need to spend your life loving that oh so wonderful, but annoyingly elusive someone special.

Irritable, homicidal, rigidly moralistic photographer Pierre Agostino angrily throttles every last gorgeous babe who fails to meet his strict ideal of the "perfect" woman. That's until he meets the wacko sicko "pure" gal of his dreams: Equally sanguinary and choleric bookstore owner Carolyn Brandt, who has a charming tendency to slice open the throats of any given filthy, uncouth bum who hits on her. The fact that Pierre has a passion for pigeons and Brandt has this thing for jogging only makes things better. Gee, ain't psychopathic misanthrope amour just grand?

Well, this exceptionally stinky, but strangely engaging and enthralling cheapjack trashy ragged-around-the-edges bargain basement poverty-row nickel'n'dime slice'n'dice sleazy junk sure hits the scuzzy spot something lurid. Under legendary Grade Z movie maestro Ray Dennis Steckler's typically slipshod (mis)direction, this choice cheesy chunk of celluloid crud hits all the essential schlock picture bases: we've got a forcefully delineated depiction of the dirty, grotty, thoroughly rundown and destitute Los Angeles milieu, the numerous murder set pieces pack a certain crudely ferocious wallop (the scene where Pierre strangles a hot chick in a jacuzzi with her own bikini top is a real doozy), a hideously meandering pace, clunky, tattered, unsteady cinematography which will have your stomach doing flip-flops, a great woozy, dolorous, wretchedly tuneless droning jazz score, hilariously horrible dialogue (Pierre to victim: "Die garbage!"), a catchy, affecting, truly wondrous ending credits theme song called "You're My Love" that's belted out with lip-smacking gusto by Alberto Sarno, lots of sexy, slender, firm-breasted young honeys who blithely display their delectable bare bodies with splendidly saucy'n'sizzling abandon, a warped, penniless, discontent, brooding gloom-doom slimy mood which grows on the viewer like a bad rash, and -- WARNING: Major *SPOILER* ahead! -- the final climactic meeting between the two titular loonies (they both kill each other) is both quite moving and simply glorious. This winner has almost everything going for it, with the notable exception of one tiny irrelevant thing: Quality. But hey, who needs quality when you can have an unceasingly ratty and repulsive teeming surplus of bottom-of-the-dumpster dwelling dimestore skankbag griminess instead?

At this point in his filmmaking career, Ray Dennis Steckler had become obsessed with making his movies for as little money as possible. What he does here is an amusing study in minimalist filmmaking. It doesn't matter if it wouldn't exactly have been up for any Oscars, it remains a curious, watchable oddity for its mercifully brief 71 minute running time. As one might guess, there's not a whole lot of story here. The movie concerns two characters who we know are destined to come together at some point. Pierre Agostino is The Hollywood Strangler, a photographer by trade who's come to regard his models and other assorted young women as "bad" and in need of punishment. Yeah, we've seen guys like him in movies like this before. Carolyn Brandt, Steckler's ex-wife and frequent collaborator, is the other character whom we follow around, a bookstore employee who, when she's not staring off into space or jogging on the beach, is offing drunken bums with her handy switchblade. It's only a matter of time before these two like minded individuals are going to make the move of introducing themselves to one another. In the meantime, it's important to note that Steckler wasn't too interested in using microphones, so he filmed this as a virtual silent movie, a bold move for any exploitation film made during this time period. (Stock) music, sound effects, dialogue and narration were all added later. And what a hoot that narration is, hilariously written and hilariously performed, adding some spice to a leisurely paced pile of cinematic trash. The major point of interest with this thing is viewing it as a series of snapshots of a particular place - Hollywood Boulevard and its series of adult businesses - during a specific era, in this case, the late 1970s. That's really what makes it fascinating, although what's good for a great deal of entertainment are Agostino's expressions and Brandt's *lack* of expressions. Adventuresome sleaze lovers are certain to find this an acceptable diversion; others beware. It comes complete with numerous breast shots, shots of legs kicking as female victims get killed, various sexy outfits, and a generous helping of that endearingly tacky bright red movie blood. Seven out of 10.

"The Hollywood Strangler Meets The Skid Row Slasher" (catchy title!) is probably the most plot-free movie I've ever seen. Some dude kills a prostitute, some lady kills a hobo, back to the dude and he's still killing prostitutes, back to the lady and she's still killing hobos, back to the dude...well, you get the idea. None of it goes anywhere, it's like you're stuck in an endless loop. Every death scene also looks exactly the same, particularly in the skid row slasher parts. And yet, somehow someway, I didn't hate this completely. There's something about it here and there that's strangely entertaining. Maybe it's the fact that it was all recorded without sound (in 1979!?), which leaves plenty of gaps that have to be filled with the strangler's inadequate narration. This narration is completely stream of consciousness and makes absolutely no sense. After he smothers some chick with a pillow he quips "wonder if she saw that movie Pillow Talk". All the other narration is 120% serious to the max, so that line just downright broke me. I also loved the absurdity of the book store scenes: personally I've been drunk at a lot of different places, but getting hammered at the book store? That was the party place in the 1970s? It also helps the hilarity that the book store has about two dozen books, maximum. Maybe I was also slightly entertained because this was made with the dirtiest, sleaziest, cheapest 16mm film stock available, which I'm just a sucker for. I could watch anything (ANYTHING) made with that kind of film, but I won't give examples on what anything may include. This movie is really bad and boring, but it's so bad and boring that I became hypnotized with it. Save yourself that trouble and don't watch it.