Alex (LAST HOUSE ON THE LEFT'S David Hess) and Ricky (Giovanni Radice AKA John Morghen) are two lowbrow car mechanics with peculiar tastes for after-hours fun. When he's not servicing a car, Alex is out on the prowl servicing unwilling female victims and terrorizing anyone who crosses his path. Ricky, being mentally impaired, finds it sufficient to clutch to the tattered coattails of Alex, joining him in his fearful escapades. When two mysterious strangers pull up in need of auto service, Alex and Ricky see two more lambs to the slaughter, and talk the two strangers into taking them to the party they are en route to. With his trusty straight razor, Alex leaves with Ricky and their two new acquaintances to the party. But Alex has more than a party crashing planned.

An obvious nod to such films as LAST HOUSE ON THE LEFT, HOUSE shares many parallels to that landmark 1972 film. Most obvious is the presence of Hess, who really seems to have the maniac / loony / psycho role down pat by the time he appeared here (he honed his craft appearing in virtual carbon-copy roles in LAST HOUSE and 1977's HITCH HIKE). With his curly black hair and menacing razor, Hess steals many of the scenes, and provides many otherwise static scenes with some much needed kinetic energy. And another often-hackneyed genre player, John Morghen, also acts in familiar territory (an outcast/no good type) but comes up pretty well here. It is a testament to Morghen's acting that he didn't go overboard into stereotypical territory when portraying a mentally challenged man. Instead, his character is surprisingly sensitive and thoughtful rather than a grating caricature.

And if Morghen is the sensitive type, than it is no surprise that Hess is a bloodthirsty, maniacal ogre. Resulting from an increasing gulf between Hess' unconditional savagery and Morghen's hesitant restraint, director Deodato ably squeezes out as much drama and tension as the deceptively simple film can hold. In one scene, Ricky is forced to rape one of the partygoers-turned-hostages (MAKE THEM DIE SLOWLY'S Lorraine DeSelle) under the close scrutiny of Alex. If either partner don't comply, their bared flesh will almost certainly get a very close shaving by Alex's razor. This scene is penultimate, however, to the final showdown between Alex and Ricky. Alex is none-too-pleased that Ricky has betrayed him by showing a drop of mercy towards a captive (again, Lorraine DeSelle). Whimpering and sniffling like a puppy, Ricky backs away from the impending death from Alex's knife. When the blade strikes, it is both a sorrowful and ironic twist of events that rips the viewer into unexpected territories of emotion.

Providing an essential component to the film is Riz Ortolani's score (who had also unforgettably teamed with Deodato in 1979's CANNIBAL HOLOCAUST). At times possessing a disco flair (greatly complementing Hess' bellbottoms and the cast's attire) and at others refraining into a somber melody and yet others a more minimal, and intense ensemble of guitar and cymbals, the score is quite dynamic and always interesting. The tension is increased a thousand-fold (especially in the sequence where the lights are cut) when the music isn't there at all, encouraging one's ears to perk up and listen to all the minutiae of the situation. Finally, Ortolani's work meshes quite well with the authentic NYC locations, lending a sleazy, gritty and wholly believable atmosphere to the often-extraordinary bursts of violence.

Also helping to make the most of the tense situations is Deodato's camerawork. While the camera is often static, providing long compositional shots of the roped hostages and Hess' crazed frame, it often takes a life of its own, providing POV, giallo-like sequences (an especially memorable one is when Lorraine DeSelle tries a futile attempt at escape). The claustrophobic setting is well attended to by Deodato's lens. There are some inspired camera techniques during key scenes of violence, where the film "blacks out", effectively leaving the worst of it to the viewer's imagination-a practice conspicuously absent from Deodato's former shockers.

And, of course, what would a film by Deodato be without a smattering of brutal violence? Although some fans have cried afoul at its dearth of graphic violence, HOUSE is not entirely bereft of sensationalized cruelty (it's just mostly weighted near the end). One scene in particular, where Hess hisses sweet nothings in a young female victim's ear while carving up her bare chest provides an effective counterexample to those who think that the film is, well, a walk in the park. Hess' demise is appropriately sensationalized; however it cannot hold a candle to the gruesome violence of virtually any scene in CANNIBAL HOLOCAUST.

But the best is saved for last. Popping up quite unexpectedly is a rather ingenious (however quite improbable) twist during the final confrontation between Hess and the battered hostages. It would be a shame to spoil it, but let it be said that one cannot pass off the film's merits without at least going the long haul to the conclusion! It's possibly the most daring element in a film that tries its hardest to betray its well-worn roots, and often succeeds.