The Greasy Strangler

Not since the Pink Flamingos days of John Waters and his gutter-trash aesthetic has there been a more divisive carnival of filth, sick humour and depravity than director Jim Hosking's bad taste slasherama. The plot follows a socially inept father and son (astonishingly brave Michael St Michaels and Sky Elobar) as they compete over a woman taking one of their Disco tours around Los Angeles while a grease-dipped maniac stalks the streets killing the innocent. It's just a hook on which to hang extended farting sequences, hilarious sexual clinches, shock splatter and Travolta-style dancing in see-through glitter onesies. Yet it's a cohesive success of excess, even though many will argue that the puerile joke goes on too long and endless repetition of such dialogue as "Hootie Tootie Disco Cutie" is beyond the pale. But the unique outrage oozing from every slippery frame is made palatable by sheer gonzo lunacy.