This is the lamest piece of crap I've ever seen. It sounded pretty good and having heard of this serial killer, thought maybe it was worth watching. First clue was the total unknown actors, directors and filmmakers doing this film. I sat through the whole painful experience and left thinking WTF? Any accuracy is out the window. Ridgeway was not even suspected until fiber strands were found on some of the victims and under their nails leading them to Ridgeways 1980s Corvette which he conveniently sold several years prior. There was no proof that he took any of the victims to his home and he freely admits that he had sex with most if not all of them in his car, in remote areas, or at cheap motels. The worst part of this film is the audio overlay with the visceral video images of autopsy's being preformed in the background. What did this have to do with the story? If I wanted to watch autopsy films I'd have rented Faces of Death or some other such garbage thats out there.
I was expecting a semi documentary style film talking about Ridgeway, his motives if any, and how he did what he did for so long. Over his 20+ years of killing, he changed jobs and victim pickup spots several times and there was no discernible pattern nor did he fit the serial killer profile. This was never mentioned in this stupid film. It appears that the student film maker, its that bad, had such a small budget that he got the local exotic strippers to play the part of the victims so that the viewer can have some gratuitous nudity, interspersed with morgue films, some wacked out cuts to some guy Ridgeway claims started him on his career and anything else they wanted to shove on screen to make this film.
It plain out sucks. Don't waste your time or money on this real winner of a loser. Go to the library and get the real documentary if you want to know about this guy, this film could take lessons from that and so could the director, producer, creator and actors, all of whom are terrible at what they do. My advice to them is don't quit your day job.
