Las Vegas Strangler aka No Tears For The Damned (1968) – William Collins.

'Mother's never wrong!'

This crisply monochromatic, scintillatingly sleazy 60s psychotronic-inflected psycho-slasher luridly presents the escalating insanity of a mentally twisted, murderously misogynist maniac with deleterious mommy issues. Following a catastrophic break from sanity, trophy-hunting loony-bird Jeff (Robert Dix) rampantly indulges all his more sordidly female-flaying fantasies by eerily eyeballing, creepily stalking, and brutally slaying a sinisterly selected selection of sultry sirens. All the denizens of the dingily downcast The Las Vegas Strangler prove anything but sympathetic, but the camera's mostly in focus, and no swinging 60s roughie is ALL bad if it lingers upon a carousel fabulously festooned with a fleshly diorama of tantalizingly topless doxies!

Vegas has always struck me as a hole, but it must be said the garishly glitzy façade has provided a thrillingly gaudy backdrop to a number of sleazy winners. While lacking the weird digressions of a Wishman/Findlay, this recently resurrected psychotronic relic is a doable oner for those predisposed to rudimentary slasher tropes. Prone to monotony, the content is juicily Jushed with hot-flushes of in-out, frantically frugging beatniks, excitable surf guitar, and arguably one of the earliest examples of a stabbed-up titty. Grindhouse addicts might care to note that the cast briefly includes John 'Bud' Cardos, still deservedly infamous for his sci-schlocker miracle The Dark.