I’m old enough to remember the fear of AIDS that gripped America — so irrationally hysterical that when Rock Hudson’s HIV-positive status became public, headlines worried whether Linda Evans was next, given the two shared a kiss on an episode of Dynasty. It was a different time — one in which your parents and teachers told you not to utilize public fountains or toilet seats, lest you catch “the gay cancer,” too.
From this frenzied climate a year later emerged City in Panic, a bargain-basement Canadian whodunit originally titled The AIDS Murders until someone realized naming a mystery after its solution maybe wasn’t the wisest of choices.
Also not a great idea: Having your protagonist be a preening cad. FM101 talk-show host Dave Miller (David Adamson, Bionic Showdown: The Six Million Dollar Man and the Bionic Woman) pretentiously yammers on and on with callers about the string of serial murders plaguing Toronto. Curiously, freshman director Robert Bouvier (Avenging Warriors) moves the camera moves around Dave just as Oliver Stone’s would do to Eric Bogosian two years later in Talk Radio. Whereas Talk Radio crackled with electricity, City in Panic is a weak joy buzzer.
As Dave spouts his tired rants on air (“Bullshit has no conscience!”), he smokes, plays darts, reads comics and toys around with RC cars and robots — each endearing him even less to us, the viewers. We’re stuck with him, just as he’s stuck with his journalistic nemesis, a Truman Capote-esque gossip columnist (one-timer Peter Roberts). You’ll wish Bouvier would spend more time with the murderer, dubbed by the press as “M” for leaving that letter carved into victims’ skin. With dark sunglasses and a buttoned-up trenchcoat, “M” looks not unlike the darker half of Spy vs. Spy and definitely has a type; see if you can figure it out from these dead people:
• a male bodybuilder
• a banana-hammock stripper
• a guy who patronizes public steam baths
• a security guard who sticks his dick through a bathroom-stall glory hole
Yes, you’re on the right track. In offensiveness, City in Panic doesn’t even approach William Friedkin’s Cruising, but its easily guessed twist and shot-for-shot recreation of Psycho’s legendary shower scene help ensure it’s not going to be crowned Mr. Congeniality, either. Cheaper-looking than the similarly plotted Massage Parlor Murders!, the movie sounds even worse, with music overpowering dialogue as if everything were recorded on one track, which is likely the case. That flatness fits the single dimension exhibited by the actors.
FM101’s chipper receptionist may put it best: “Weird show, Dave.” —Rod Lott