Pretty standard fare about a metal sculpturer who gets dragged into the murder of his unscrupulous, female art dealer. The psycho, nerdy killer gives the film its only watchable moments--suffocating the art dealer with a rubber shroud, and using channel locks on Gregory like a clip-on earring from Hell. The photography, script, acting, and lighting is strictly TV Movie of the Week send-up, giving the dark emotions, dysfunctional characters, and seedy situations a Beaver Cleaver patina. Our artist hero is a big, burly, and not too bright Fabio-type, so fortunately the writers bless him with favorable plot twists (girl hits his car, girl turns into lover, girl just happens to be daughter to biggest gallery owner in Santa Barbara). The killer's psychosis is explained in one scene with his overbearing mother and something about moving brain plates, covering both the psychological and physiological in one, quick swoop. His wanna-be-an-artist-wah! motivations are even more obscure--something about hoarding art so the rich, tasteless dummies won't despoil its purity. Looking out of this film, he doesn't have to worry about anything remotely resembling Art.
