Now I’m a horror fan but not necessarily a gore-hound, so generally The Driller Killer (1979) never really appealed to me. However, I am a fan of director Abel Ferrara and this was his first low budget narrative film, so I felt it was time as I’m trying to be a completist about his filmography. Yes, the film is an unpleasant, blood-soaked “video nasty” – yet, it’s also a great document of sleazy New York from the past. In contrast to any nostalgia for the old NYC, this film depicts it as a hellish existence: bad punk bands playing next door until the morning, creepy landlords who don’t care, random violence on the streets, and constant anxiety over money. There’s also the intense energy of Ferrara himself, acting under a fake name (“Jimmy Laine”) as the main character, a frustrated painter living with two women, and slowly going insane to the point where he unleashes his rage on the city with an electric drill (and a portable energy pack) on unsuspecting homeless men. My favourite part of the film was just Ferrara himself, a seething bundle of Bronx-born agitation, like my favourite scene where he complains to his housemates about the bills: “What is this? They send us the bill to Madison Square Garden? What are they kidding me, man?” The Driller Killer will absolutely not be for everyone, but there is a sick comedy to it (whether that’s because of its shoe-string budget and non-actors vamping or the weirdness that runs alongside the genre demands of stalk-and-slash kills) and a raw energy with its red hued lighting, Catholic imagery and Joe Delia synth score (the film opens with a card: “This film must be played loud”). Sets the scene for Ferrara’s controversial follow up, Ms. 45, and his auteur demarcation as a scuzzball poet.
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