Once in a while a movie comes along that doesn't quite know what it wants to say, or even give the slightest shit about its audience. For the year 2016, that movie is The Greasy Strangler, a depraved, unfunny cinematic experience - or should I just say exercise instead? (Mind-fuck is honestly more appropriate) - about a strange middle aged man (Michael St. Michaels) living with his even more twisted father (Sky Elobar) - who just happens to be the titular serial killer. These two men, neither possessing any redeeming qualities, bicker throughout, yell "Bullshit artist!" back and forth at one another when quarreling, and also fall for the same woman (Elizabeth De Razzo), which leads to further tension between the two.
The director, Jim Hosking, never quite finds an appropriate tone; the entire thing feels like Freddy Got Fingered-meets-Napoleon Dynamite, but with performances equivalent to a Junior High School stage production. Also, one can only see so many shots of an elderly man's wrinkly, oversized (but obviously fake) penis before going, "I think they're trying just a little too hard." None of this would, of course, matter at all if the movie was actually funny, but alas, it isn't so. The Greasy Strangler is what happens when a talentless filmmaker gets a huge amount of money to make his (twisted) dream project, and hires an even less talented cast: it's a movie about nothing, made for no one.
F
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