Brad Friedman as volatile tortured Catholic oedipal wreck transvestite Goose, Jason Stein as reserved, laconic, deranged "yo-yo" serial killer Buzz, and Daniel J. Johnson as fidgety, sniveling, weak-kneed wimp Jojo are undoubtedly the foulest, most slimy and disgusting bunch of vicious degenerate punks to ever sneer across the screen since the repulsive Krug Stillo gang in "The Last House on the Left." This lethal anti-social trio terrorize a handful of snobby New York City white collar yuppie office workers (three of 'em are played by distaff direct-to-vid exploitation pic perennials Ruth Corrine Collins, Jennifer Delora and Delia Sheppard) working late hours during a holiday. Only the building's grubby, bitter, shell-shocked loner 'Nam vet janitor (moodily essayed by David John) has both the necessary guts and ability to fight back.
Director Howard Winters opts for a commendably fearless and go-for-broke nasty approach to relating the rough story. Winters doesn't hold back on the right raw stuff, delivering a mighty potent gut punch of a sleazeball suspense thriller which gleefully goes against the stuffy, uptight, killjoy grain of reprehensibly touchy-feely 90's political correctness: Among the unsparingly ghastly carnage found herein are graphically unpleasant 'Nam flashbacks, rape, shootings, stabbings, degradation, both physical and psychological abuse, strippers struttin' their stuff, snarly taunting dialogue ("I'm a sociopath, lady!," Goose hollers at one cowering victim), a helpless elderly dentist having his gold teeth ripped out by Goose, and a righteously violent, grimly ironic turn-the-tables grand finale, all of which give this admirably harsh gut-ripper a mean, scuzzy, resolutely amoral and unnerving edge that's gloriously reminiscent of 70's drive-in movie sludge like "Fight for Your Life" and "I Spit on Your Grave." A great, gritty, deeply cynical and corrosive little stinkweed unsung exploitation movie gem.
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