A majority of exclusively made-for-video low-budget fright flicks from the 80's invariably stink worse than raunchy old socks. This particularly dismal and amateurish no-budget Chicago-set bargain basement "nasty necrophiliac nutcase on the loose" bloodbath serves as a depressing affirmation of this borderline ineluctable fact. A bearded, disheveled, long-haired, bead and flower shirt-wearing wild-eyed psycho hippie fruitcake embarks on your standard random gruesome killing spree, graphically slaughtering libidinous young couples who are engaging in strenuous coitus whenever the deranged Mansonesque lunatic attacks. (Hmm, do I detect a fairly obvious and self-righteously puritanical "have sex and die" message here? Gee, could be, man.) Boy, is this mentally unbalanced sicko one real way gone pup: After knifing his female victims, our certifiably crackers killer enjoys making love to their freshly slain bodies. (WARNING: Possible *SPOILER* ahead. Towards the picture's end the corpse-copulating crazy gets rudely interrupted by the cops while he's in the middle of doing the unthinkable with a nubile cadaver, thereby provoking the foul pervert to cut loose with an understandably anguished and ear-splitting cry of "Nooo!") Now, ain't this gonzo guy a definite sweetheart and a half? <br /><br />Too bad this flick is so poorly done; if it had only been made with a modicum of flair and proficiency it could have been a sleazy little gem of a horror exploitation item. Alas, Wally Koz's ham-fisted direction, Lamar "Larry" Bloodworth's stubbornly static and immobile cinematography, Frankie "Hollywood" Rodriguez's insipid, monotonously head-banging "hard rock" score, the pitifully cheap and unconvincing make-up f/x, flat, conspicuously uneasy plywood acting by a hideously all-thumbs and unappealing non-pro cast, lethargic pacing (too much screen time is tiresomely squandered on the police's drab efforts to catch the wacko), an especially lame would-be shocking "surprise" ending (the mystery killer's true identity is guaranteed to have you groaning in disgust), the uniformly boring, incessantly bickering and positively braindead characters, and a steady succession of dull soft-core sex scenes that are about as erotic as watching two slugs mate for 90 minutes straight all add up to one profoundly putrid and unrewarding limp, soggy noodle of a crummy clinker. However, to be fair, this film does possess one stellar virtue: The mad-dog slasher has unquestionably excellent taste in garishly tropical, louder-than-thunder day-glo Hawaiian shirts.