John Giancaspro is the craziest goddamn serial killer in movie history. No one’s more maniacal. No one’s more happy to show his dick and balls multiple times on camera. No man looks more comfortably ghoulish in women’s clothes and thrown-on lipstick. No one else walks down busy Las Vegas streets shouting expletives and carrying a ventriloquist dummy among crowds of passing pedestrians who seem unaware that he’s an actor.
In short, no one’s more fearless.
Giancaspro was great in the original Schizophreniac: The Whore Mangler and he’s great here as the same character, still killin’, still screamin’, still so full of evil energy that he looks like he might punch the camera. He’s so hopped-up, Dennis Hopper’s Frank Booth would advise this guy to chill out.
Like the first movie, this is a shot-on-video cheapie that takes advantage of its place under the radar. Writer/director Ron Atkins piles on the gore, the nudity (male and female, frontal and otherwise, sometimes in pornographic close-up), the racial slurs, and bodily fluid gross-outs. In between all of that, Atkins takes time to play a small acting role here, as Jesus Christ—Atkins is barely able to contain his smirk—who shows up early in the movie to briefly tell Giancaspro to change his bloodthirsty ways.
He doesn’t listen.