There really is no hope for coma patient Patrick Herschell (Gianni Dei): if he doesn't snap out of his catatonic state while gorgeous blonde secretary Lydia Grant (Andrea Belfiore), the object of his lust, feverishly masturbates mere inches from his face, then he never will!
For several years now, poor Patrick has been a prisoner of his bed, unable to do anything but stare at the ceiling; he's been that way ever since a careless litter-lout threw a bottle from the window of a passing car, hitting him squarely in the face. While caring for his son, Patrick's father (Sacha Pitoëff), eminent professor and owner of a posh health clinic, has devised a system that allows his son to project his thoughts and move objects at will. With this incredible power, Patrick is able to vent his frustration and anger on the group of people currently staying at the clinic, one of whom may be the person responsible for his inability to do anything but perspire while a total babe is frottering against his bedstead.
Although often referred to as an 'unofficial sequel' to 1978 Aussie psychic chiller Patrick, the plot for this exploitative, gory and sexually explicit trash-fest from director Mario Landi is completely unconnected to that movie; Landi simply borrows the basic premise and central character to tell his own twisted story. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, because I love a really sleazy Italian trash-fest, and they don't come much deviant than this unapologetically OTT sucker!
From the word go, Patrick Still Lives delivers the goods in terms of quality female flesh, with plenty of nudity from what must be the finest collection of Italian crumpet ever assembled for a low-budget knock-off of a minor Aussie horror flick. Working alongside the lovely Lydia is the equally sexy Meg (Anna Veneziano), whose only responsibility at the clinic seems to be to pet the guard dogs; the female guests are also real crackers, with politician's wife Cheryl (Carmen Russo) possessing a magnificent set of breasts and the gorgeous Stella (Mariangela Giordano) also being the owner of a mighty impressive set of curves (and an equally hairy minge—natch!).
For over half an hour, viewers must be content with this constant display of nekkidness courtesy of these fine fillies, after which Patrick finally begins to rack up some kills: first to go is Carmen's hubby, boiled alive in a swimming pool (or frozen by the dry ice that is used to achieve the crap bubbling water effect); the next victim is hung up on a hook, the point piercing under the chin; the third victim arguably suffers the worst fate—a roasting spit rammed up her vagina and out of her mouth (with no gory detail spared!!!!); one of the women has her head sliced off by an electric car window; last but not least, the guard dogs turn on Meg and eat her alive (man's best friend, but apparently not so nice to women).
Despite Landi's focus being on the sex and violence, the film also boasts some startlingly effective imagery along with all the blood, boobs and bush: garish coloured lighting transforms many an otherwise mundane scene into a macabre cartoonish nightmare, and although the effect might be considered laughable these days, the repeated image of Patrick's eyes multiplied over the action is certainly very memorable. A Goblin-style synth score from Berto Pisano lends a soupçon of class (where none was really needed).
A pointless blackmail subplot is never resolved, and once Patrick has sated his desire for revenge, Landi wraps up his film in extremely abrupt fashion without revealing the real identity of the bottle-thrower, but since most people who check out this film will be be doing so purely for the nudity and splatter, this lack of exposition is excusable.
7.5 out of 10, rounded up to 8 for IMDb.
For several years now, poor Patrick has been a prisoner of his bed, unable to do anything but stare at the ceiling; he's been that way ever since a careless litter-lout threw a bottle from the window of a passing car, hitting him squarely in the face. While caring for his son, Patrick's father (Sacha Pitoëff), eminent professor and owner of a posh health clinic, has devised a system that allows his son to project his thoughts and move objects at will. With this incredible power, Patrick is able to vent his frustration and anger on the group of people currently staying at the clinic, one of whom may be the person responsible for his inability to do anything but perspire while a total babe is frottering against his bedstead.
Although often referred to as an 'unofficial sequel' to 1978 Aussie psychic chiller Patrick, the plot for this exploitative, gory and sexually explicit trash-fest from director Mario Landi is completely unconnected to that movie; Landi simply borrows the basic premise and central character to tell his own twisted story. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, because I love a really sleazy Italian trash-fest, and they don't come much deviant than this unapologetically OTT sucker!
From the word go, Patrick Still Lives delivers the goods in terms of quality female flesh, with plenty of nudity from what must be the finest collection of Italian crumpet ever assembled for a low-budget knock-off of a minor Aussie horror flick. Working alongside the lovely Lydia is the equally sexy Meg (Anna Veneziano), whose only responsibility at the clinic seems to be to pet the guard dogs; the female guests are also real crackers, with politician's wife Cheryl (Carmen Russo) possessing a magnificent set of breasts and the gorgeous Stella (Mariangela Giordano) also being the owner of a mighty impressive set of curves (and an equally hairy minge—natch!).
For over half an hour, viewers must be content with this constant display of nekkidness courtesy of these fine fillies, after which Patrick finally begins to rack up some kills: first to go is Carmen's hubby, boiled alive in a swimming pool (or frozen by the dry ice that is used to achieve the crap bubbling water effect); the next victim is hung up on a hook, the point piercing under the chin; the third victim arguably suffers the worst fate—a roasting spit rammed up her vagina and out of her mouth (with no gory detail spared!!!!); one of the women has her head sliced off by an electric car window; last but not least, the guard dogs turn on Meg and eat her alive (man's best friend, but apparently not so nice to women).
Despite Landi's focus being on the sex and violence, the film also boasts some startlingly effective imagery along with all the blood, boobs and bush: garish coloured lighting transforms many an otherwise mundane scene into a macabre cartoonish nightmare, and although the effect might be considered laughable these days, the repeated image of Patrick's eyes multiplied over the action is certainly very memorable. A Goblin-style synth score from Berto Pisano lends a soupçon of class (where none was really needed).
A pointless blackmail subplot is never resolved, and once Patrick has sated his desire for revenge, Landi wraps up his film in extremely abrupt fashion without revealing the real identity of the bottle-thrower, but since most people who check out this film will be be doing so purely for the nudity and splatter, this lack of exposition is excusable.
7.5 out of 10, rounded up to 8 for IMDb.