Review: Extremities

Farrah Fawcett is attacked one night in her car by a masked assailant. She manages to escape, but the police barely seem to care and send her back home with the promise that if she calls, they’ll come by. Yeah, thanks for that, especially since her attacker stole her ID and knows where she lives. When her attacker (played by James Russo) does indeed show up at her house intending on raping her, Fawcett is left to fend for herself. Alfre Woodard and Diana Scarwid play her two dopey roommates.

Based on a stage play that I can’t even begin to imagine what kind of audience would attend, this 1986 film from director Robert M. Young (“Rich Kids”, “Dominick and Eugene”) is a film of two halves. Scripted by playwright William Mastrosimone (“Sinatra”) himself, the first half is dull, grossly exploitative and not remotely my idea of entertainment, whilst the second half is increasingly stupid. Seriously, even if you’re somehow a fan of the rape-revenge thriller subgenre, the second half of this film just torpedoes itself. We get a particularly idiotic performance from Diana Scarwid as Fawcett’s dopey roommate who simply doesn’t exist in any reality as you and I know it. Her late revelation makes zero sense given her behaviour up until that point. Poor Alfre Woodard (a genuinely excellent actress otherwise) fares almost as bad as the other roommate, a social worker who when happening upon Fawcett finally turning the tables on her attacker has an even more ridiculous reaction than Scarwid. See this absolute dipshit of a woman claims that the attacker is still a ‘human being’ and deserves a level of dignity. The guy likely tried to rape your roommate, sweetie. How about you worry more about her dignity? Yeah? No, of course not because you too are a character who simply doesn’t exist in the real world. I hate and wholly disapprove of vigilantism, but the guy Russo plays is quite clearly guilty to anyone with a working brain and isn’t remotely worth sympathy.

What’s worse is that when you think about the entire second half, you realise that the filmmaker is using rape/attempted rape for the purposes of psychological thriller twists, which is a true disgrace. So nothing about the ‘revenge’ aspect to the film rings even slightly true, and is too sleazy in general to be stupid fun. Then again, what is the opening 40 minutes if not a shamefully exploitative collection of near-rapes for the purposes of building tension. It’s sick, sick filmmaking really and a prime example of why I’m just not a fan of this kind of thing.

The lead performances aren’t remotely the issue, with a Mickey Rourke-ish James Russo in particular is fine enough as the attacker. Early on in particular he uses his voice effectively, and works just as well once he’s unmasked. It’s not his fault that things get truly absurd in the second half. It’s also been well-shot by Curtis Clark (“Sesame Street Presents: Follow That Bird”), in that 80s street-lit night-time way. Meanwhile, whilst I can’t profess to having any love of the subgenre, there’s a sleazily-effective scene early on showing the attacker’s eye-view as he unsuccessfully stalks victims before finally settling on Farrah Fawcett, since the others all had companions. For what it is, I can see the thought that went into the scene. However, the film offers up a truly disgraceful depiction of the police which is in no way fair nor believable to me. No cop, even 30 years ago surely would’ve responded to a victim’s request for police protection with ‘If you call, we’ll come’. The attacker knows her address for crying out loud!

Despite a bizarre R-rating in Australia, I have to say that even with this sort of unpleasant subject matter, this is TV movie material. Honestly, these days this kind of thing is dime-a-dozen Midday Movie crap. “I Spit on Your Grave” it ain’t, which is both a good and bad thing I suppose. Good because it’s not as grotesque as some of the nastier rape-revenge flicks, bad because it’s…tedious. Although your mileage may differ dependent upon your personal tastes, I found this to be boring, grossly exploitative, and eventually very, very stupid. Definitely not my thing on any level. Appallingly cheap music score  J. A. C. Redford (“Oliver & Co.”, “Heavyweights”, “Bye Bye Love”), full of irritating farts and squeaks.

Rating: D