FATAL IMAGES (1989) Directed by Dennis Devine
Active Home Video VHS
THE FILM
Is it getting hot in here?
After the concepts of wearing one's pajamas under one's clothes ("It saves time at night!") and decorating police stations with spice racks and Lethal Weapon posters were introduced, sweat started pouring from my brow. Something was simmering.
Fatal Images is a shot on video (SOV) volcano. At the outset, you'd never know it. 95 minutes later, you'll more than know it. It IS hot in here. Lava is bubbling. The time is nigh.
Serial killer Mr. Cosgrove is an aesthete. You see, "His murders are like works of art!", so we know his V-DELUX camera-which-takes-your-picture-and-then-you-die schtick is no put-on. Ten years after Cosgrove commits suicide via snapshot (whoa!), the camera appears in Lucky Eric's pawnshop aka someone's garage. Amy, a photographer who wages the dynamic battle of money vs. art, buys it. She takes photos of colorful people. They die, yet her prints seem to telegraph each death AFTER it happens. Ingenius. The plot thickens! Cosgrove's Satanic ghost. Arms ripped off. Jen, Amy's roommate and her curious pajama habits. Rick, an angelic nerd. Guts pulled out. A bikini model who says "pitcher" instead of "picture". Father Dana, purveyor of the splatter-paint dress shirt. Then, from out of nowhere, the band "Teaser" crushes the world's gonads with Rock music that weighs nearly three tons, yet floats by on a cat-screamed feather. And then the guy in the bar with those goofy sunglasses sounds like Dan Aykroyd when he --
KA-BOOM.
Silence. The ash descends. My hair is smoldering. I can't remember my Mother's maiden name. I feel really good.
Fatal Images wasn't filmed in another universe ala Tales From The Quadead Zone. And, unlike Boarding House, the sleaze content lies a bit low. No, this is a new kind of SOV epic. Therefore, I can offer no criticism.
Director-writer Dennis Devine (Dead Girls) spread out $10,000, obsessed over extreme close-ups, and had faith in way-too-loud sound effects. The resulting debut introduced a new cosmopolitan awareness. Art? Satan? Teaser? I want it all. Fatal Images is ingrained with the living room production values of The Hackers, the violent spittle of Spine, and the hysterical datedness of Woodchipper Massacre. It's a triumphant funnel of SOV charm that learns from these peers and doesn't degrade. The film pounces upon its initial bashfulness, building to a confused crescendo that offers lots of irrational behavior, odd creeps, and luscious late 80s hilarity. I could go on forever, but this has been a long day.
I'm bushed. Glad I can just pull my pants off and skip that whole "change into pajamas" part. It really does save time!
AUDIO AND VIDEO
Picture-wise, this is a standard SOV experience; desaturated, flat, and a little hazy. The audio department, however, needs help. A constant hi-pitched squeal, rapidly fluctuating volume, and low, muffled dialogue constantly threatened to disrupt the mood. That proved to be impossible.
EXTRAS
"Oh, these pitchers are very good. Very artistic."
FINAL THOUGHTS
Curb thy expectations. Covet thy pajamas. The extremely rare Fatal Images explodes with a bit of everything, yet somehow keeps both feet on the ground. It never gets old. Place this essential SOV very, very high on the list.
— Joseph A. Ziemba, 02.01.07 | 
Officer, I plead the fifth
J.C. Penney's would object
Tease tease me
Girl, check out my knife!
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