‘Las Vegas Bloodbath’ (1989) - David Schwartz.

Unwholesomely written, ‘produced’ and non-directed by the magnificent sleazoid polymath David Schwartz, his riotously wretched skank-shanking serenade ‘Las Vegas Bloodbath’ (1989) should be by all rights be mentioned in the same (mastur)baited, whiskey-drenched breath as Nathan Schiff’s meat-spattering, cannibal hootenanny ‘Long Island Cannibal Massacre’ or B-movie diva Doris Wishman’s memorably mad murder-fest ‘A Night to Dismember’ but it isn’t, and this gross filmic faux pas is due almost entirely to its complete non-availability, rather than by any perceived lack of exquisitely demented, beautifully inept, luridly lo-Fi content as ‘Las Vegas Bloodbath’ is a ceaselessly hysterical, tyrannically tasteless marvel of debased video-hazed sleaze, endowed with a uniquely egalitarian disregard for the viewers more delicate sensibilities!

This scabrous S.O.V, no-budget skeeze-a-thon takes a strictly zero tolerance approach to cinematic classicism, spurning all narrative subtlety or visual acuity for generously overflowing bathtubs of spectacularly cheapjack gore and plentiful, no less profanely expressed dialogue! What sleazy-skeezey director Schwartz lacks in natural filmmaking talent has been zealously compensated with a singular disregard for all vestiges of basic human decency, heroically dragging the viewer through the unrelentingly Stygian mire of our maniacally misogynistic mass murderer who suffers from a uniquely vociferous disdain for ‘Daytime Whores’, and in a diabolical fit of murderous pique, our upsettingly Nic Cage-lookee-likee proceeds to bloodily eviscerate the poor blameless Fräulein who so unexpectedly provoked his disturbingly alacritous escalation from being merely an absurd-looking creep to a hardcore, hate-fuelled psycho beastmaster, unleashing a singularly splenetic swathe of bile-inducing roadside slaughter! 

I shall leave it to those more scholastically-inclined to contextualize and expertly dissect the implausibly entertaining impetus, yet morally reprehensible machinations of S.O.V crud-meister David Schwartz’s toweringly trashy, malodorous ode to celluloid chode, since its overwhelmingly tacky, perversely sickening appeal is perhaps quite beyond all rationality, and unlike the crusty exploitation films erroneously placed upon the UK-Banned list, ‘Las Vegas Blood Bath’ is a demonstratively grotty-looking sickie, a quite literal video nasty, being both aesthetically abject and thematically nasty; clumsily ‘shot’ on garish, low-res VHS which luridly exaggerates the myriad invidious details of the majestically coiffed maniac’s freakishly bizarre, execution-laden Las Vegas exodus like an especially skuzzoid skin-flick, wherein boisterously consenting coitus has been crudely replaced with barbarous bathtub butchery and the apparently arbitrary torture of big-haired, bikini-clad, trash-talking bimbos making for an especially insalubrious money shot. 

‘Once seen ‘Las Vegas Bloodbath’ can never be unseen!’

      

'Don't judge me, dude, I just don't like coming back to an empty house!'

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'It 'aint your bunny I'm after, cupcake!'

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