Larry Cohen once again wades into the muddy waters of exploitation and emerges with something far stranger and more watchable than it has any right to be. Special Effects (1984) is a trash-noir daydream filtered through a cracked lens, smeared in sleaze, soaked in paranoia, and held together by the slow-burning sorcery of Zoe Lund’s presence. If Body Double took acid in a Times Square peep show booth, you might end up with something close to this.
The plot is pure B-movie soap: a down-on-her-luck Oklahoma girl heads to New York City to chase stardom and ends up murdered by a deranged film director (played by Eric Bogosian, in full scumbag auteur mode) who then decides to make a movie about her life… starring her lookalike. In other words, Vertigo for people who smoke Kools inside and still own Betamax players.
It shouldn’t work. But somehow it does.
Cohen, ever the cinematic confidence man, lures you in with grimy setups and morally bankrupt characters, then wraps it all in a meta-commentary about obsession, filmmaking, and voyeurism. There’s blood, yes—but more importantly, there’s style. And even more importantly: Zoe Lund.
Let’s pause here and give credit where it’s due—because Zoe Lund doesn’t act so much as haunt, floating through Special Effects like a ghost who never got the chance to overdose properly. With her angular cheekbones, razor-wire frame, and eyes that suggest she’s seen the apocalypse and politely asked it for a cigarette, Lund elevates every grimy frame she’s in. Whether she’s playing Andrea, the small-town girl chewed up by New York’s mean sidewalks, or Elaine, the streetwise doppelgänger drafted into a director’s twisted passion project, she commands the screen with a kind of weary, volatile elegance.
Lund wasn’t just a pretty face who could hold a gun (Ms. 45 proved that much); she was a poet, a provocateur, a woman who made existential crisis look like high fashion. Watching her in Special Effects is like watching a candle flicker in a wind tunnel—tense, unpredictable, captivating. Her voice—smoky, distant, as if coming from the other end of a long tunnel filled with regret—gives even the most mundane lines a haunted texture. You don’t just see Zoe Lund in this film; you feel her. In your bones. In your hangovers. In that quiet, trembling part of your brain that still believes in noir.
She doesn’t save Special Effects because the film isn’t broken—but she makes it linger in the bloodstream long after the credits roll.
Eric Bogosian, for his part, plays the psycho director with just the right amount of unshaven menace. You believe he’d kill a woman for a better third act. You believe he’s got a reel-to-reel tape recorder full of confessions. He’s the kind of guy who probably thinks snuff films are just “extreme vérité.” His energy is greasy, unpleasant, and perfect.
The film’s sleaze is its soul. This is New York before Giuliani, a city where the neon flickers with bad intentions and nobody seems to sleep unless they’ve overdosed or passed out from regret. The editing is jagged, the score is synthy and pulsing, and everything feels like it was shot in the same hotel room where dreams go to choke on cigarette butts and empty promises.
Cohen plays with layers of reality in a way that’s both clever and hilariously on-the-nose. Is this a movie about a murder? Or a movie about making a movie about a murder? Or just a reminder that Hollywood (and its gutter-dwelling cousins in NYC) would kill you for a reaction shot if the lighting was good enough?
Sure, Special Effects has flaws—sometimes the pacing drags like a drunk on a fire escape, and the dialogue ranges from solid to soap opera. But this isn’t about perfection. It’s about vibe. Mood. That sense of being trapped inside a scuzzy dream where beauty and violence are kissing cousins and everyone’s morals are held together with duct tape.
Verdict: Highly watchable.
Trashy? Absolutely.
Weirdly smart? Often.
Saved by Zoe Lund’s cheekbones and Bogosian’s sweaty ambition? 100%.
Four stars out of five.
One taken off for questionable life choices.
One added back for Zoe Lund, because let’s face it: she is the special effect.
