If Ed Wood had access to a few more scissors, a few more psychotics, and far less restraint, he might have made The Thrill Killers. But alas, even Wood might have said, “Hey Ray, maybe don’t cast yourself as the lead psycho in your own incoherent murder-pastiche slasher-fugue.”
Directed by Ray Dennis Steckler (masquerading as “Cash Flagg,” a pseudonym that carries all the menace of a forgotten Vegas magician), this 1964 psychotronic stumble through the cracked sidewalks of Los Angeles is a lesson in how not to make a horror film. Unless your goal is to watch three escaped mental patients hack their way through a cast of aspiring nobodies while Liz Renay looks mildly annoyed.
The Plot (We Think)
In theory, The Thrill Killers is about multiple lunatics going on a killing spree after escaping a local asylum. In reality, it’s a jumbled mess of vignettes held together by duct tape, screaming, and what appears to be a 9th grader’s understanding of editing. The film opens on Joe Saxon (Joe Bardo), a man with acting dreams and the charisma of a wet sponge. He’s married to Liz (Renay), who wears her makeup like she’s preparing to audition for a role as a haunted mannequin.
Elsewhere in the plot—or perhaps an alternate dimension—we follow Mort “Mad Dog” Click (Steckler himself), a hitchhiking murderer who looks like he was cast after failing an audition for the Zodiac Killer. He kills a Greek immigrant for a car, murders a prostitute with scissors (as you do), and later rides a stolen horse into the hills in one of the most unintentionally hilarious final acts in exploitation cinema history.
Meanwhile, three escaped mental patients—Keith, Herbie, and Gary—are out butchering handymen, decapitating newlyweds, and doing their best impression of a suburban Texas Chainsaw Massacre fan club. These psychos have all the menace of day-shift mall Santas, but hey, they swing axes and shout things like “Now I kill you!” so technically it’s horror, right?
Madness, Mayhem, and Mediocrity
Let’s be clear: this isn’t a so bad it’s good classic. This is so bad you start worrying about your own mental health as you watch it. Steckler directs with the confidence of a man who found a camera in an alley and said, “This is destiny.” The editing is done with a weed whacker. Characters teleport between locations. Continuity is treated like a rumor.
But what truly distinguishes The Thrill Killers is its tone. It wants to be disturbing. It wants to be gritty. It ends up being a confused, hyperventilating fever dream in which murder, party scenes, and deadpan acting exist side-by-side like uncomfortable strangers on a Greyhound bus.
Liz Renay Deserves Combat Pay
Renay—best known for dating mobsters and later writing My First 2,000 Men—is the only person here who looks like she belongs in a movie. It’s a shame that movie is this one. Her performance is mostly comprised of being terrified, frustrated, and occasionally kidnapped, but you can see flashes of charisma peeking through the eye shadow and poor lighting. She’s trying, god bless her. The rest of the cast performs like they’re rehearsing in front of a haunted waffle iron.
And then there’s Steckler’s “Mad Dog” Click: bug-eyed, sweaty, wielding a pair of scissors like he’s carving a turkey made of regret. He shouts, growls, grins maniacally, and chews scenery like it’s made of beef jerky. Watching him is like watching someone lose their mind in real time—except you’re not sure if it’s him or you.
The Sound of Screaming into a Void
Let’s not forget the audio—because the filmmakers sure did. Dialogue levels fluctuate wildly, often drowned out by a soundtrack that sounds like a rejected Perry Mason theme. Screams echo into eternity, sometimes looped, sometimes clipped mid-shriek. The dubbing is erratic, the foley work worse. One killer’s footsteps sound like he’s tap dancing in clown shoes.
The script is less a coherent narrative and more a post-it note collage of plot points: actor wants fame, wife is mad, man with scissors kills everyone, ending includes a horse. Somehow, it ends with a studio offer and Miss Transylvania. Roll credits, cut to me sobbing in the dark.
Final Thoughts: Maniacal… but Make It Incompetent
There’s a version of this movie that could’ve been fun—a blood-soaked, grindhouse grindfest with some deliberate camp and at least a few intentional laughs. But Steckler shoots it like he’s in a rush to catch a bus, and edits it like someone’s shaking the reel while blindfolded.
Sure, there’s action: people run up hills, people run down hills, people stab each other, horses gallop, necks are hacked, brains melt—but none of it means anything. It’s motion without emotion. Screaming without stakes. Madness without method.
Final Score: ½ out of 4 Severed Heads
Watch only if you’ve lost a bet, or if your therapist tells you to confront chaos in its purest form. The Thrill Killers is a movie that stabs itself in the foot, rides off into the hills on a horse, and forgets why it started running in the first place.
