PRIMAL RAGE (1988) Directed by Vittorio Rambaldi
Warner Brothers VHS
THE FILM
"I had an abortion. Welcome to the real world."
"Ah, a new crop of fine freshman tit-tays!"
"If this year's Halloween party has all of the drugs, drinking, and nudity of last year's, there won't be another!"
Abortions, tit-talk, and Halloween. What more can a late 1980s sleazer possibly have to offer? What more could you possibly want it to offer? Welcome to the real world. Welcome to Primal Rage.
A sub-Pointer Sisters theme song urges us to "Say The Word." I'll take the reigns. Primal Rage borrows the skeletal ideals behind George Romero's The Crazies, gives 'em a shot of Cro-Magnon idiocy, and for flavor, adds an "Avoid The Noid!" poster, an ALF doll, and cardboard cut-outs of those old guys from the Peppridge Farm ads. Yes, it gets even better. Leap-frogging through extreme hilarity, squirmy gore, and striking 1980s savoir-faire, the Florida-birthed "Primal Rage" doesn't ask much of its audience. Just be on time for the Halloween party and you'll be fine. Tit-tays, aweigh!
Sam (Patrick Lowe, another brother of Rob), a roving college photographer, rides around on his scooter. Sam's pal, Duffy, is a rebellious wise guy reporter. Three incredibly entertaining, sexist frat guys (outfitted in full sweatsuits) cause problems. Elsewhere on campus, a quiet scientist (Bo Svenson, Night Warning) keeps his mini-poni-tail in check and performs brain damage tests on a monkey puppet. The (real) monkey infects Duffy. Duffy infects his new girlfriend. An attempted rape scene invokes more chuckles than thirty episodes of My Two Dads strung together. Encore! The crazed disease soon spreads. People die. Sam cries. His girlfriend feels the pain. We're off to the All Hallow's Eve bash. Let's make sure there's another.
Primal Rage wastes no time and offers no intelligence. Hurrah for that. Written by Umberto Lenzi (Ghosthouse, Cannibal Ferox) and directed by Vittorio Rambaldi (writer on Lenzi's Welcome To Spring Break), this film complies with the later legacy of its sleaze-merchant makers. It's a wrecking ball of harmless, entertaining skank, filled with perverted touches, restless late 80s celebration, and very little style. Halloween spirit is absent throughout, but the lengthy (and violent) hullabaloo climax tops off with much dignity. Did I mention the band performance? And skull costumes? Ask for nothing more.
AUDIO AND VIDEO
The pan and scan print was bold, colorful, and mostly clean. A few instances of dirt and white specks flew on through. The stereo sound was another story; pray for relief from the monkey screams.
EXTRAS
Don't forget to fully absorb one of the most elegant title screens of all time.
FINAL THOUGHTS
Did somebody say abortion? Fat chance. Primal Rage guarantees trashy entertainment; there's not much to knock. Throw in the primo Halloween capper and watch your worries fade away.
— Joseph A. Ziemba, 10.19.06 | 
Tit Patrol
No expense is spared
Skull brother
Subtle consequences
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