Samantha (Lynne Frederick) is a talented figure-skater with a troubled past who hopes to find happiness in marriage to Alan (John Leyton), a carpet manufacturer. However, the happy day is overshadowed for her by the appearance of a heavy-set stranger (Jack Watson), and things grow worse as people around her begin to die in horrible ways
This is one of those cheesy British horror flicks that would have easily-pleased teens flocking to the local Odeon back in the mid 70s, but by the early 80s its betamax-size video box sat endlessly on the rental shelves. With a plot of a thousand holes it lurches from one improbable twist to another with little regard for rationality or realism – and perhaps that's why it's not as awful to watch as many other equally bad offerings which take themselves more seriously. Influenced by Italian gallo flicks, Schizo's plot chugs along at a fair old lick, throwing surprisingly gruesome murders at the screen whenever the pace shows signs of slowing and ensuring that you're never bored, at least. Director Pete Walker even manages to throw in a couple of effective moments, such as the spooky séance scene and a rather clever transposition from the brooding William Haskin's pen swirling over Samantha's newspaper photograph to a close-up of her skates cutting corresponding lines into the ice. For every neat touch, though, there are countless drawbacks, not least of which is the future Mrs. Sellers' acting. Fredericks can't act for toffee and even – like most of us – looks better when clothed than naked, so there's only middling compensation from her couple of gratuitous nude scenes. (I wonder what happened to the gratuitous nude scene – like Vauxhall Vivas and Basil Brush, they seem to have become something of an outdated relic these days.)
If you're of average intelligence you'll figure out who the killer is within half-an-hour, and it's only the bizarre actions of some of the characters that might occasionally plant a seed of doubt in your mind. There's some pleasure to be had from spotting familiar faces: dear old Queenie Watts for one, and a youngish Stephanie Beacham, badly miscast as Samantha's best friend. Jack Watson, a permanent fixture in 70s TV, also enjoys a larger than normal role as the sombre Haskins.
This is one of those cheesy British horror flicks that would have easily-pleased teens flocking to the local Odeon back in the mid 70s, but by the early 80s its betamax-size video box sat endlessly on the rental shelves. With a plot of a thousand holes it lurches from one improbable twist to another with little regard for rationality or realism – and perhaps that's why it's not as awful to watch as many other equally bad offerings which take themselves more seriously. Influenced by Italian gallo flicks, Schizo's plot chugs along at a fair old lick, throwing surprisingly gruesome murders at the screen whenever the pace shows signs of slowing and ensuring that you're never bored, at least. Director Pete Walker even manages to throw in a couple of effective moments, such as the spooky séance scene and a rather clever transposition from the brooding William Haskin's pen swirling over Samantha's newspaper photograph to a close-up of her skates cutting corresponding lines into the ice. For every neat touch, though, there are countless drawbacks, not least of which is the future Mrs. Sellers' acting. Fredericks can't act for toffee and even – like most of us – looks better when clothed than naked, so there's only middling compensation from her couple of gratuitous nude scenes. (I wonder what happened to the gratuitous nude scene – like Vauxhall Vivas and Basil Brush, they seem to have become something of an outdated relic these days.)
If you're of average intelligence you'll figure out who the killer is within half-an-hour, and it's only the bizarre actions of some of the characters that might occasionally plant a seed of doubt in your mind. There's some pleasure to be had from spotting familiar faces: dear old Queenie Watts for one, and a youngish Stephanie Beacham, badly miscast as Samantha's best friend. Jack Watson, a permanent fixture in 70s TV, also enjoys a larger than normal role as the sombre Haskins.