Mario and Fernando Almada are back at war with one another in the sequel to 1984’s La Muerte del Chacal. Yet while that movie was a giallo ala Mexico, this one is content to be a slasher, placing victim after victim in the path of its killer.
Drills to the head, three women stabbed in the same room while one of the victims tries to hide behind a coat hanger, a sobbing mother who wonders where she went wrong and more strippers than you can handle — actually, I have faith that you can handle it — and this movie takes the somewhat restrained — well, as restrained as 1980’s Mexican murder movies get — first installment and goes completely wild, even setting up a third movie that sadly never came.
I mean, it’s not enough for the killer to murder every dancer backstage. No, he has to start riddling the audience with bullets. This is a man who loves his work. Sadly, his brother has to start cleaning up the mess or more people are goign to pay.
I feel as if I completed a quest, both finding this film — thanks to BobyBoy on Letterboxd — and it being the last film of my several week odyssey of hunting down and watching some of the roughest films Mexico had to offer. I feel that I am a much better and more well-rounded person for the journey. And I have an even greater suspicion that I will be down this road again soon.
