"Future-Kill," with its menacingly hyphenated title and H.R. Giger-esquire (turns out Giger himself actually did it) box art, was a film of quasi-mythic cult attraction in the time of VHS. Its real claim to any sort of notoriety? The participation of two actors from "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre" (Edwin Neal and Marilyn Burns, the latter of which basically has an extended cameo). I rented the film years ago for that very reason, and didn't find it great, but didn't hate it, either; at best, it felt like a semi-coherent mix of "Porky's," "Repo Man," and the early works of Sam Raimi. After viewing it a second time, I can genuinely say I liked the film. While the current DVD version (via Subversive) doesn't perform any alchemy on the film's murky cinematography (it's essentially a port-over of the old VHS), it adds to a strangely nostalgic feel for '80s "No Nukes" protests, New Wave fashions (gotta love the Bowie-esquire eye makeup!), and no-taboo sex comedies that weren't afraid to show a lot of skin. Director/co-writer Ronald Moore has crafted an erratic, borderline-amateur feature that starts like one of the endless rip-offs of "Animal House" (pampered frat guys spurn a rival frat leader), abruptly shifts into a variant on "Escape from New York" (frat guys run afoul of a radiation-poisoned psychotic, aptly named Splatter (Neal), and even finds time to reflect on the socio-economic differences between the bourgeois frat guys and the urban "mutants" looking to live nuke-free (with the final conclusion being that neither is all that different). While Moore's directorial flourishes are minimal, the periodic use of muted slow motion during violent scenes seems to tie in with the film's contradictorily anti-violent philosophy, and is employed to good effect; and while the frat guys aren't very well-defined, some are allowed to develop as characters, to the point where the suspenseful climax actually carries a surprising (albeit low-grade) impact. While "Future-Kill"'s philosophy might not be the most thought-out, and while it may not be a model of superior film-making, it should be given credit for at least attempting to go about its slaughter with some semblance of brainpower. (The funky vintage synth score also deserves a shout-out.)
