Robert M. Young, who thought it was a good idea to film Miguel Pinero's play Short Eyes, makes an even bigger mistake with this William Mastrosimone piece. It begins at the level of the average slasher film: first some cross-cutting between a sinister motorcyclist (opaque visor, snakeskin boot) and his innocent victim-to-be (Natural History Museum, racquetball court); then some subjective-camera stalking of her in the shopping-mall parking lot; then a jack-in-the-box appearance by him in her back seat, with the accoutrements of the generic rapist (ski mask, knife). His New-York-street-tough routine -- a cross between Harvey Keitel and Robert De Niro, but more Keitel than De Niro -- is no easier to take, once he removes the mask. The turning-of-the-tables (bug spray in his eyes, etc.) is a relief of a sort, but there is no relief from the Neanderthal dialogue and dramaturgy ("Who the fuck do you think you're playing with, bitch?" and "Shut up, idiot!" "You shut up!"). Farrah Fawcett, James Russo, Diana Scarwid, Alfre Woodard. (1986) — Duncan Shepherd
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