Schizo

Samantha (Lynne Frederick) is a celebrity ice skater whose fabulous life includes media coverage of her marriage plans. Too bad that William Haskin (Jack Watson)--convicted of killing Samantha's mother (Wendy Gilmore)--reads the newspapers. Samantha's a neurotic mess herself, so nobody really believes her when she says she's being stalked--until, that is, the body count starts going up.

Speaking of bodies, Frederick's and Gilmore's are on full display.

Schizo is like an Italian Giallo; there is plenty of blood and nudity.

The first half of the film is the setup and it drags a bit, but things get going and it is a fun ride even though I suspect that we are being set up for a twisted ending.

And, boy did we get one.

On one hand, Pete Walker's psychological horror Schizo is a pretty fun time-waster, boasting decent performances, some delightfully gruesome killings (best of all being a knitting needle in the head—implausible but cool), and a touch of nudity courtesy of its lovely star Lynne Frederick, who plays Samantha, a recently married premier ice skater who finds herself terrorised by menacing weirdo William Haskins, recently released from jail for the brutal murder of Samantha's mother.

On the other hand, the film is a little bit too long for its own good, stretching its rather thin story-line to breaking point, and you would have to be crazier than this movie's killer not to work out who is responsible for its bloody murders: given the film's blatant title, Walker's final twist is far too easy to guess, making this a far less effective thriller than it otherwise might have been.

Ultimately tipping things in its favour are Walker's assured direction, a decent supporting turn from Hammer babe Stephanie Beacham, some unnecessary but entertaining occult nonsense, and an unmissable appearance by the world's most hideous wallpaper design (at least four designs in one, all of them horrible).

6.5 out of 10, rounded up to 7 for IMDb.

SCHIZO

Aspect ratio: 1.85:1

Sound format: Mono

A young figure skater (Lynne Frederick) is stalked by a convicted killer (Jack Watson), recently paroled from prison, whose appearance coincides with a series of vicious murders.

Typical entry from British sleaze specialist Pete Walker (FRIGHTMARE), taking its cue from the giallo shockers popular throughout continental Europe at the time. Less confrontational than some of Walker's previous outings ("It was less Gothique... I wanted less incident and outrage," he explained to journalist Alan Jones in 1983), SCHIZO still delivers the gory goods, though it takes rather too long to work up a decent head of steam. Climactic dividends are reaped by a steady accumulation of narrative details, but individual scenes are somewhat labored, not helped by Frederick's lack of presence in the leading role. By contrast, Stephanie Beacham (DRACULA A.D. 1972) is utterly charming as a family friend who turns detective when Frederick identifies Watson as her stalker - had the roles been reversed, this could have been a small masterpiece of psychological horror. Other stand-outs include veteran character actor Watson (recognizable from brief appearances in countless British movies, here given a much weightier role than usual), and a bearded John Fraser ("The Trials of Oscar Wilde") as a psychiatrist who pays the price for digging too deeply into the circumstances surrounding the death of Frederick's mother.

Aware of his own directorial limitations, Walker always allowed clever scriptwork to dictate his method, but he was no hack, as SCHIZO ably demonstrates. Here, his point-and-shoot style is punctuated by moments of genuine visual dexterity, such as the circling of a pen on a newspaper article which gives way (via dissolve) to a spinning ice-skater, or the truly unsettling séance during which medium Trisha Mortimer manifests physical signs of possession by one of the killer's former victims. The subsequent murders are blunt and bloody, with no pretence to subtlety. Peter Jessop's artful cinematography and Chris Burke's sensitive art direction make a virtue of the film's seedy locations, and while a good fifteen minutes could have been cut from the overlong narrative (most of the film's highlights are confined to the second half), editor Alan Brett manages to streamline an increasingly complicated scenario with some degree of panache.

Screenwriter David McGillivray parted company with Walker after this one, due partly to the quality of the script (based on an old work by Murray Smith, author of Walker's earlier films), which McGillivray felt was too transparent, and rendered the killer's identity obvious from the outset. Maybe so, but some of the climactic revelations still pack a hell of a punch. Bottom line: If you're a fan of Walker's output or British exploitation in general, you'll overlook the film's slow-burning tempo and enjoy its outlandish plot developments. Worth a look.

Walker made some good horror films in the seventies. Written by the ubiquitous McGillivray. It throws in everything but the kitchen sink. Mind you the really shock of the film is Jack Watson in a ginger syrup.

Not really prime Pete Walker; rather an attempt by the director to do a stalker / slasher picture, after the Italian giallo fashion.

Walker does treat us to some surprising and vivid scenes, ample shock moments and a fine use of locations - mid-70s Britain is once again a fascinatingly grim locale, as in some many films of the era! However, the crucial 'twist' is rather poor, straining all credibility that the film had.

The uncannily ubiquitous Jack Watson is actually quite sinister though, and Stephanie Beacham once more plays the very middle-class friend type as in other British horrors of the era. Lynne Frederick - to be wed to Peter Sellers the following year - is another of PW's sexy heroine-in-peril leads and, like many such characters, is not incapable or entirely cardboard. John Leyton, singer of the stupendously eerie Joe Meek-produced #1 hit 'Johnny Remember Me' (1961), is bizarrely cast as Frederick's husband, providing as much screen presence as the elusive Zeppo Marx. Sheila Keith is missing.

While this is a definite retreat from PW's previous nasty fairy tales - "House of Whipcord", - it still has a certain appeal for those who don't mind a bit of well-crafted 1970s exploitation. Those who view films purely in terms of gender politics should obviously stay well clear!