The Zebra Killer (1974)

         Hang loose, dear readers, because things are about to get confusing. This schlocky police saga was originally released as The Zebra Killer, though the story has no connection to the infamous “Zebra Murders” that took place in San Francisco around the time the film was made. Additionally, the movie has been released under myriad different titles, including Combat Cops, The Get-Man, and Panic City. By any name, this picture is barely passable. Produced on a meager budget and suffering from ugly cinematography during extended nighttimes scenes, the movie also features a clumsy performance by James Carroll Pickett as the villain, who comes across like a comedic exaggeration of a psychopath. Another problem is the turgid storyline, which wobbles between generating weak suspense and relying on overly informative expositional scenes. Cowriter/director William Girdler, who later made a handful of enjoyably loopy horror flicks, can’t seem to decide whether he’s making a slam-bang actioner or a taut thriller. What saves this highly problematic movie from itself is an assured leading performance by Austin Stoker, who subsequently starred in John Carpenter’s first proper feature, Assault on Precinct 13 (1976). Stoker cuts s strong figure in The Zebra Killer, all confidence and swagger with an appealing touch of vulnerability. He plays Lt. Frank Savage (yes, that’s really the character’s name), a streetwise cop investigating a series of bewildering murders.

          A killer identifying himself in crime-scene notes as “Mack” slaughters seemingly unrelated people, planting a bomb in a station wagon one evening, pushing someone down an elevator shaft the next, and so on. (To confound potential witnesses, the killer, who is white, wears an Afro wig and blackface makeup while committing crimes.) Once revealed, the killer’s motivation is neither provocative nor surprising, but the point of a picture like The Zebra Killer is to generate pulpy excitement rather than intellectual stimulation. Girdler tries a little bit of everything, from chase scenes to kidnappings to shootouts, in order to keep blood pumping through the movie. He also veers slightly into the realm of blaxploitation, especially during a sequence featuring D’Urville Martin as a pimp. Set to a repetitive funk soundtrack, The Zerbra Killer is quite rotten in terms of production values and story. Nonetheless, the picture was made for the undemanding grindhouse audience, and in that context, it’s adequate.

The Zebra Killer: FUNKY

Abby (1974)

          Lest there be any doubt, Abby is a truly awful movie—even given the low expectations set by the premise, since Abby is nothing but a shameless riff on The Exorcist (1973) featuring an all-black cast. The scares are nonexistent, the script is schlocky, and the special effects are pathetic. However, the movie has one minor saving grace: William Marshall, the stentorian-voiced actor who lent unexpected dignity to the role of Blacula in two cheesy horror movies, plays the exorcist in Abby. Marshall’s elegant presence isn’t nearly enough to make Abby respectable, but his appearance is sufficient to make the movie watchable, at least periodically. It’s also worth noting that Abby was directed by William Girdler, who later made a string of colorful horror flicks—Grizzly (1976), Day of the Animals (1977), and the completely insane supernatural epic The Manitou (1978). Abby isn’t as slick as the later films, but it’s just as brazen and zippy.

          The story, naturally, involves a young woman being possessed by a demon. Specifically, after Bishop Garnet Williams (Marshall) accidentally releases an evil god named “Eshu” while exploring in Nigeria, Eshu invades the body of Garnet’s daughter-in-law, Abby (Carol Speed), who lives back in the U.S. with Garnet’s son, Emmett (Terry Carter). Violence, vomiting, and vulgarity follow, until Garent returns from Africa for a supernatural showdown. Giving the material a blaxploitation vibe, cowriter/director Girdler features the wholesome Abby speaking in crude street slang while possessed—for instance, before kicking Emmett in the crotch, she squeals, “Shit, you ain’t got enough to satisfy me!” In another scene, Abby experiences an orgasm while handling a piece of raw chicken on a kitchen counter. (Make your own “finger-lickin’ good” jokes.)

          While it’s all exactly as derivative and silly and tacky as it sounds. Marshall does what he can to play the material straight, especially when he performs with Austin Stoker (Assault on Precinct 13), who plays Abby’s brother. Alas, neither Speed nor costar Terry Carter (a regular on the original Battlestar Galactica series) rise to the same level. Still, what’s not to like about a quasi-camp drive-in distraction that kicks off with Marshall releasing a demon by recklessly twisting the tiny wooden penis of a figurine that’s carved into the shell of wooden box? Safe to say Girdler harbored no illusions of making great art.

Abby: FUNKY

Sheba, Baby (1975)

Produced at the tail end of the blaxploitation boom—and in the waning days of leading lady Pam Grier’s initial popularity—this lackluster action flick is quite a comedown after the funky heights of previous Grier joints including Coffy (1973) and Foxy Brown (1974). Wham-Bam-Thank-You-Pam plays Sheba Shayne, a Chicago-based private investigator who returns to her hometown of Louisville, Kentucky, when she gets word that her dad is being hassled by local gangsters. Before long, Sheba’s dad falls victim to gun-toting thugs, so Sheba—with a little help from her pop’s business partner, Brick Williams (Austin Stoker)—unloads you-messed-with-the-wrong-mama vengeance on crime boss Pilot (D’Urville Martin) and his associates. Grier spends Sheba, Baby talking tough while looking great (her knockout figure is on ample display in costumes like the wetsuit she wears for the movie’s last half-hour), but Sheba, Baby is unmistakably second-rate. The dialogue is trite, the production values are mediocre, and the supporting performances are awful. Even the requisite funk/soul soundtrack, often a saving grace for shaky blaxploitation movies, is uninspired. Grier’s nomrally forceful acting falls victim to the general crappiness, because she often seems as if she’s delivering lines she’s just learned—it almost feels as if the movie comprises rehearsals instead of takes. Director/co-writer William Girdler was far more comfortable with in the horror genre, and after making this picture, he banged out a trio of demented creature features (from the campy 1976 gorefest Grizzly to the wigged-out 1978 supernatural flick The Manitou). For Sheba, Baby, he’s unable to conjure the needed vibe of frenetic violence and urban grime—the picture moves too slowly, the textures all feel phony—and it doesn’t help that Sheba, Baby is rated PG instead of R. Really, what’s the point of trafficking in a sleazy genre if not to present sleaze?

Sheba, Baby: LAME