In 2004 there was an underground horror movie called CHAINSAW SALLY about a young girl and her brother who survived an attack that killed their parents, leaving them scarred in untold ways; the boy Ruby Diamon became a sexually neutral goth weirdo, and the girl became “Chainsaw Sally” a mild mannered librarian by day who stalks the streets of fictional Porterville Maryland looking like the bastard love child of Elvira and Marylin Manson. Well while I have admittedly never seen that film, these are the continued adventures of Miss Sally, a small town murderess sex kitten with a trademark two stroke engine purr.
Produced by Hershell Gordon Lewis, “the Godfather of Gore”, I had high hopes for this product, but I was sincerely disappointed. Sally (April Monique Burril) is hot, fit and tight as you can expect in a movie which exudes sexuality and gore at every juncture, but yet somehow I found myself bored with this as this “chainsaw” is all sound and fury signifying nothing.
Sure, The bare concept of a bipolar, scantily clad, hot psycho bitch who hunts down jerks during the night and cuts them to ribbons with noisy, scary and sharp machinations sounds like a cult film work of art, but nothing in this film is convincing. Instead of elaborate latex dummies to simulate penetration of unwary victims by various tools (a trite visual trick that even most studios could afford twenty years ago), we get closeups of blood splashing hither and yon, torn flesh simulated by raw meat and hyper-violent action sequences which would almost funny, if they weren't suggesting that one could have their spine ripped out their rectum by someones bare hands, for example. Admittedly while Sally herself is certainly something to look at, there really is no scene in this film suggesting sex of any kind, Not directly. Of course. We get all kinds of suggestions that she may be bisexual, incestuous and into S+M by various sub-plots and scene allusions, but the ultimate development of the characterization of Miss Sally reaches no further than the extent of her always low cut tops. In this way I suppose it gives her a sense of mystique, at the same time it bores everyone else who buys this unrated, underground expose of estrogen gone awry at least expecting the same visible quotient of (simulated) sex and violence from a Friday the 13th movie from the eighties. Stupid, ludicrous and loud you have to ask yourself if you are willing to sit through 2 disks/275 minutes of being constantly tormented with R rated gore so elementary you can practically smell the Karo syrup and then teased with insanely suggestive adult situations that are over before they began and in most cases never were. Granted there is ALWAYS more to a good horror film than sex and violence but the plots here are ludicrous, predictable and stupid even by the lackluster standards of this genre. Every time a new character is introduced you know that the episode can only end with their mechanized mutilation or capture/ subsequent torture, and the local police are stupider, more incompetent than in the opening credits of any fifty superhero movies put together.
I am not trying to cut on Chainsaw Sally, really I am not. For a budget title, directed by a guy (Jimmy O Burril) who used his hot wife as the principal lead, it wasn't as self indulgent and restrained as it could have been (for a fledgeling director) Perhaps that is part of the problem for this reviewer. Much like the garish cover art above depicted for this title, in the end you had a femme fatale who was always seen in all manner of gore strewn punk whore outfits who just somehow always seemed afraid to get dirty.