Brigade anti-viol

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.

This was obviously meant to be a standard late-70s total-waste-of-time movie, an excuse to show topless women squirming and thrashing while being strangled, but Nicholas Worth turns it into a must-see. Actors-in-training and stage-vocalists, especially, can learn from his vocal prowess and from the way he uses his size. He is a huge, hulking basso with the ability to near-totally relax his inhibitions, and he uses his entire range, from resonant, snarling low tones, through a thundering midrange up to a piercing, blubbering whimper at the very top which has to be heard to be believed. He should have been an opera-singer. He could have sung Wagner.

The women dress beautifully in late 1970s casual summer-wear, and they get undressed equally beautifully by Worth's character, after (sometimes before) he strangles them to death. (One of them is future PLAYBOY-centerfold Pamela Jean Bryant.) As the other reviewer said, James Westmoreland (Detective McCabe) and Flo Gerrish (Doctor Lindsay Gale) act extremely badly; however, Ben Frank (Detective Hatcher) delivers some very funny lines with excellent cheesy deadpan. Like when McCabe tells him that the strangler has stolen some of the victim's clothes, and he replies: "That's great! Now we got him on petty theft, as well as murder!" Also, Chuck Mitchell, one of the few actors even bulkier than Nicholas Worth, plays a small part as a porno publisher. (If Mitchell looks familiar, it's because he played the Warden in PENITENTIARY and the title character in PORKY'S.)

These folks have created a masterpiece in spite of all their best efforts to the contrary.

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.

If you are a hopeless misogynist, this is the film for you. If you enjoy seeing women abused, tormented, tortured, humiliated and finally strangled, with the camera right in their face so that you won't miss one single second of their fear and pain, then run right out and rent this movie. If you like cheap, porno movie soundtracks, complete with the early 70s wocka-ch-wocka riff, you'll love this film. If you admire poker faced heroines, whose facial expression NEVER CHANGES whether she's having sex, trying to save a suicidal girl or fending off a serial killer, then this film is a must-see.

This film could have been good. Maybe not great, but at least halfway decent. But that's what happens when you swap subtlety for unrelenting, in-your-face sadism: you get crap. Believe it or not, I do not NEED to see EVERY SINGLE VICTIM die a brutal, agonizing death. I'm perfectly happy with crime scene photos or an after-the-fact discovery of the body. I don't enjoy watching people being terrorized, crying while their clothes are ripped off and/or screaming in fear as they're slapped and called derogatory names while their incredibly disgusting assailant grins and laughs.

You know a movie is bad when the only halfway decent performance comes from the guy playing the killer. The rest of the cast are much like mannequins from the worlds seediest department store: they never come to life and aren't at all interesting. The entire movie appears to have been shot through the eyes of a nasty, dirty old man who never bathes and whose only girlfriend was inflatable. It's shamelessly filthy, ugly and cheap. A better title might have been: "Don't Waste Your Time."