Director: Lucio Fulci
Year Released: 1982
No zombies, no supernatural happenings, no shark duels: it's Fulci in New York, and he's got a serial killer that preys on women ... and talks like a Donald Duck (or, more accurately, imagine a poor imitation of Donald Duck done with the utmost seriousness). Accusations of misogyny are actually misguided since Fulci is essentially a moralist, and his placing the film in pre-Giuliani New York is intentional and effectively seedy: the peep shows and sleaze are viewed with disdain, and it's suggested that the decadence is what helps fuel lunatic rampages (like in Scorsese's Taxi Driver). The psychobabble that tries to explain the killer's intent is incoherent, of course, and the ending is about as ridiculous and baffling as anything he's ever done; other than a few cheap thrills, it's under-whelming horror.