I remember visiting friends in their apartments during the 60's and 70's. There was a smell. It was a bit of decay and lost dreams. The guys living there were always submerged in some pretentious daydream. I remember forcing myself to look at their "masterpieces" and compliment them, even though they had little or no talent. I think about the pathetic artist in this film. Trying to drum up a life for himself. He, of course, is mentally ill, but he also has that same sad vacuous thing going as well. The film is a bit of practice for its director. There is borrowing all over the place. The colors used for transition from violent episode to violent episode are disjointed and trite. There is a six sexuality. For some, this was such an exciting period. Excitement was born out of despair sometimes. This guy acted on his despair. I think the wildest thing is the thought of being killed with a 3/8 this inch power drill. Chicken soup for the sadistic soul.