When the guys from Black Fawn films discussed and ran the trailer for Discopath (original French title Discopathe) at a comic con nearly three years ago I was stoked. Shot mostly in Montreal and featuring a Disco era slasher, the trailer highlighted lofty production values that accurately captured the mid 70’s smoke filled discotheques, funky duds, and gleaming chrome bumpered wheels. I was even kind pissed not being able to get a copy then and there and was only able to buy my DVD from them the following year.
A few DVD synch issues resolved, I finally got around to spinning this disc anticipating a nostalgic reprise of movies like Joe Spinell’s Maniac, or perhaps another musically inclined light horror like Phantom of the Paradise. The premise was rife with possibilities, the trailer looked promising, how could things go wrong? But somewhere along the way a few ‘mis-steps’ were made on this dancefloor and the end result was no chart-topper or even a one-hit-wonder.
The disquieting ripples begin with the first scene where we find Duane (Jérémie Earp-Lavergne) chatting with Valerie (Katherine Cleland) in full roller skating regalia. The wardrobes are perfect but the ‘New Yawk’ accents are grating. The two are chatting in what is obviously a modern day cement sloped skateboard park because back in the 70’s no such public parks existed for roller skaters. Valerie becomes Duane’s first victim that night at the local discotheque which befuddles the NYPD officer Paul Stevens (Ivan Freud) as the case remains unsolved.
Leap ahead five years later to a religious all girl residential school in Montreal where Duane, now using an assumed name is handyman. When two of the girls sneak back into the dorm as all the other students head home for a long weekend, the music they play on their rickety 45 RPM record player touches off Duane’s memory of his father being electrocuted by his HI FI stereo system when he was a child. Transfixed by the traumatic sonic memory, Duane viciously slaughters the girls, and miraculously the news reaches the ears of detective Stevens who must plead with his supervisor to allow him to revisit the cold case on his own dime.
By the time Stevens arrives in Montreal to work with local inspector Sirois (François Aubin), Duane has nabbed one of the teachers, Francine (Sandrine Bisson), that has caught Duane’s eye. Unknown to all, the sultry and flashy Francine was also having an affair with Sister Mirielle (Ingrid Falaise), the straight laced and bun coiffed head teacher. After a car crunching and body strewn car chase, Duane finally gets cornered for a Dyno-O-Mite denouement.
While the film has a lot going for it, it does suffers from a ridiculous script, lame acting by lead Earp-Lavergne, and other factors that could have been easily addressed. From a plot point of view the worst assault is the fact that Stevens takes the merest of hints that his original killer was triggered by music – music was playing in the background – and then links it to another murder in another country five years later simply because the killer diced victims with 45’s. As for the acting one could argue that the role of Duane is arguably impassive when in a semi-trance state committing his crimes, but Earp-Lavergne’s portrayal is as rigid as a vinyl disc throughout.
An example of the nuisance factor are the choices made for the score. You’d think that with a disco themed film the musical selection would be pretty obvious. Expecting only an original soundtrack reminiscent of the disco sound, I was a bit surprised that the budget even allowed for procuring the rights to one or two bona fide hit songs of the time. Hearing K.C. and the Sunshine Band’s “I’m your boogie man” was fine, but was totally stumped as to why the main featured track ended up being Kiss’ “I was made for lovin you”. Great sound mind you, a huge hit, but hardly disco.
One the positive side, both Mirielle and Francine are credible and downright appealing as they coo and tease over the phone about their clandestine lesbian affair while Sirois is great playing the cop with just the right touch of humour. The costumes reign with period clothing featuring wide collars, tank tops and skin tight gym shorts. Aside from the aforementioned ‘Death by 45’s’ there is also an appropriate strobe lit kill and other fair carnage effects, some done notably by Rémi Couture, who gained notoriety for having so vivid artwork he was prosecuted.
With apologies to my disco trotting friends the final verdict is the same as that applied to the disco music of that era. Disco(path) sucks.