"Also, don't go in the woods and don't tell mom the babysitter's dead"
A disco-loving mama's boy is all messed up in the head because his hyper-religious mother used to hold his arms over the kitchen stove burner when he was a kid; when she finally kicks the bucket, he gets his revenge on womankind by burning girls alive with a flame-thrower. Damn, they sure don't make 'em like this anymore: grim, humorless, distasteful, DON'T is pretty far from the wise-cracking, ironic slashers we got as the '80s progressed.DON'T has its fans among bad-taste freaks (Quentin Tarantino is reportedly an admirer), but it's a crummy movie by any objective standard. As the nutty killer, Dan Grimaldi makes for one of the least menacing psychos ever to grace the screen. Worse, the dotty screenplay negates all suspense by presenting everything from his point of view, and we get way too many ridiculous scenes where the killer, who's prone to hearing voices, argues with the corpses lying around his house. He gives a lousy performance, but it's admittedly hard to show off your acting chops when you're talking to a dummy.
Horror films like this are routinely attacked as misogynistic, a criticism that usually makes me roll my eyes, but here it may actually be dead-on accurate. Though the body count is fairly low, and there are few on-screen murders (but the first is a doozy), the film so full of contempt for its female characters that you begin to think we're supposed to sympathize with the killer.It's a sleazy movie, but the sleaziness is mitigated by the plain fact that the movie sucks. You just can't take it seriously on any level.