Não Atenda O Telefone

Don't Answer the Phone is yet another film from the late 70s and early 80s about a psychotic, demented, socially awkward killer who brutalizes women because of his "problems" - whatever those problems might be. This time around we have a muscular, fat Vietnam vet who was never good enough for his father butcher pretty girls just after they have stripped from their little clothing. Nicolas Worth plays the wheezing, maniacal killer with a bizarre almost interesting quality. He is not a good actor yet is able to hold your attention throughout. I wish I could say something pleasant about the rest of the cast, but none of the rest are very competent. The police detectives who are looking for Worth - one which falls in love with the pretty radio psychiatrist that can shed light on the killer's identity - were particularly bad. The girls are pretty but the misogynistic flair devoted to their deaths is particularly degrading and unpleasant. The film is at least not overtly gory and had me interested until the end. The story was compelling enough and Worth is worth a look if nothing else.

Snickering Vietnam vet Kirk Smith (Nicholas Worth) is one hell of a sicko: for a living, he shoots obscene pornographic photos, and in his spare time, he strangles pretty young women BEFORE raping them. LA detectives Lt. Chris McCabe (James Westmoreland) and Sgt. Hatcher (Ben Frank) are hot on the maniac's heels, but can they catch him before he kills his latest target, radio psychologist Dr. Lindsay Gale (Flo Lawrence)?

With such a sleazy premise, Don't Answer The Phone looks set to be a classic slice of extremely offensive exploitation, but with director Robert Hammer reluctant to go that extra mile to offend, the film falls short of the high (or should that be low?) standards set by his contemporary William Lustig, whose similarly themed film, Maniac, goes all out to shock the viewer.

Worth's character, Kirk Smith, is an undeniably repugnant fellow, and what he gets up to certainly ain't nice, but Hammer's approach to his patently sensationalist material is surprisingly cautious: whilst he doesn't mind showing the audience a little nudity (for example, all of the victims have their tops torn off before being choked to death), he doesn't quite seem to possess the cojonas necessary to present his sex and violence in the no-nonsense manner the genre demands.

Instead, his characters simply fill us in on the salacious details through conversation: a psychic gives a graphic account of the murder and rape of one girl, offering lurid tidbits of info about Kirk's modus operandi, and several characters pass comment on the particularly explicit nature of his photography. At the risk of sounding like a dangerous psycho myself, I ask 'Where's the really good stuff?'. A few throttlings and some tits only qualify this as exploitation lite!

To be fair, Don't Answer The Phone does manage to deliver a couple of scenes that almost make the grade—Kirk strangles a junkie hooker whilst she is live on air with Dr. Gale, and one topless victim is subjected to scalding by melted candle wax— but with too many other scenes pulling their punches, this film is most likely going to disappoint fans of degenerate cinema.

5.5 out of 10, generously rounded up to 6 for IMDb.

With the '07 passing of Nicholas Worth, we lost an actor whose work on Don't Answer the Phone (DATP) informed a generation of the dangerous psychological effects of war and the horrifying results of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in American troops.

Still as intense as when it was first released on the gritty 42nd street trash houses of the day, DATP, though dated in respects to its treatment of women and psychology, still delivers some hardcore death scenes, not to mention a "killer" (if not repetitive) soundtrack.

James Westmoreland (of "Undertaker" fame) leads a cast in what ultimately is the most scene stealing of his career (in that he has the most scenes, by number, than any other movie of his career). Here he is at his cheesy best.

In conclusion, the lesson of war's tragic effects continue to go unlearned by a society that will be host to many more young female victims, victims of cinema's PTSD wrath.

I weep for a better tomorrow but if our reality creates more cinema in the vein DATP, I welcome it with open arms.

Okay-at-best psycho on the loose pic is pretty standard fare with few if any surprises. James Westmoreland does a serviceable job in the lead as a composed detective hunting a certified nut-job who's strangling (and then some) vulnerable women and phoning in his conquests to a local psychiatrist's (Gerrish) radio programme.

Worth is hyper-maniacal in the antagonist role, his hulking appearance fulfilling the intimidation quotient well, whilst a few familiar faces (Haze, Frank et al) round out a capable cast. Contrary to other reviewer's remarks, I personally didn't have a problem with Westmoreland's performance nor did I think Worth was especially remarkable in his characterisation; they and the rest of the cast manage with some fairly drab dialogue padding out what is essentially, a paper thin plot (if you excised the pointless scene fillers, DATP would barely make theatrical length).

DATP just seems like a run of the mill slasher pic with all the typical elements, including nudity, sadism, nurse stalking, PTSD, some occasional light humour (check out the brothel scene which was a laugh) and every other cliché you've ever seen in films of the ilk. A pretty good example of where the title attracts attention that the film itself can't sustain. Very average.

An ugly, ugly film about a psycho who goes around raping and strangling random women. There's a good central performance by Nicholas Worth as the psycho, but the film drags with no tension or suspense whatsoever. It's just an endless series of attack scenes with no style and nothing to say.