Multiple murders ain’t gonna stop these ladies from gettin’ FIT! How many more gross ass pig men can we get to watch?! Bring three buckets!
A dance company once hired me to shoot their big show and requested I stop by to check it out beforehand. I dutifully arrived, but because of the studio’s odd layout, I pretty much had to stand in the doorway just so I wouldn’t get in their way. As I arrived mid-rehearsal, I didn’t announce myself, but finally, somebody told me to buzz off in no uncertain terms. I explained who I was, so it was cool, but they said creepers wandered over frequently to ogle the ladies in their leotards. No such policing exists in David Prior’s Killer Workout, aka Aerobi-cide, a sketchily plotted slasher dripping with 80s cheese and populated by disgusting, horny men and bodacious babes with a knack for dying after club hours. Killer tries to meld elements of horror with a hard boiled detective yarn while dedicating at least a quarter of its runtime to lengthy, lasciviously-shot workout routines, but no matter how many taut buns and fistfights you put onscreen, there’s no way to mask awkward, bad acting.
‘Bouncy’ is the word that comes to mind as KW struts and thrusts across the flurorescently-lit aerobics floor. Prior’s camera rarely strays from leering at the lithe, spandex-clad bods of busty broads bending, stretching, and yes, bouncing up and down to the textbook definition of an 80s pop score. 🎶She’s a Knockout 🎶 indeed. With highly suggestive lyrics like Hey baby, I’ve got the apple. Red and juicy, warm and sweet, there’s zero subtlety to what this movie’s going for. It’s sexiness is only surface level, though, and blatant cutaways to heaving chests wrapped in sports bras rhythmically gyrating do little to distract from the standard yet somehow muddled narrative. At least these ladies have some personality, unlike most of the main cast.
Sporting a permanently furrowed brow and glowering as though he’s in a Mike Hammer pulp novel, David James Campbell’s acting is as stiff as a barbell up his ass. Oh sure, go ahead and handle that evidence without gloves. Meanwhile, Marcia Karr’s gym owner gets to act tough like she’s that sporty chick from Facts of Life while Ted Prior and his rippling muscles make their usual appearance just as they did way back in Sledgehammer.
With our killer’s murder weapon generally being a literal giant safety pin, there’s little suspense to be found and the stalk ‘n slash sequences lack any visceral terror. Fight scenes, meanwhile, are certainly spirited and if these guys are gonna throw in a few rando roundhouse kicks, I’m not gonna complain. Lighting and camera work are decent, but Prior’s screenplay is all over the place and with so many players, many of whom turn out to be inconsequential, the movie feels overstuffed and uncertain of where its going. With stronger acting, the admirably dark and nihilistic ending might’ve been a real jaw-dropper. Often inadvertently funny but taking itself way too seriously, this mix of blood, eye candy, and action has its goofy, ridiculous moments, but is definitely the dumbbell to its bowflex of a cousin, Death Spa.
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