Until the ending scene carries the expression "carrying a torch" to a far-fetched extreme, DANCE WITH DEATH is moderately entertaining sleaze for audiences with a yen for perfectly proportioned females, a predilection for red herrings and a taste for colorfully reprobate murder suspects.
On the surface, this sexploitation whodunit is about Kelly Preston (Barbara Alyn Woods) an ambitious reporter who goes undercover to crack the case of the topless-dancer killings. Yet it's equally fascinated by that reporter's growing interest in her new sideline as an exotic dancer. Also walking
on the wild side of life are: Dermot (Steven Lloyd Williams), a horny bartender with no luck with the ladies; Art (Martin Mull), the even hornier proprietor of the seedy club and a part-time blackmailer; and Jodie (Elena Sahagen), a tough lesbian who has an eye for new girl Kelly and makes a quick
recovery after her last girlfriend does the death-dance with the psycho killer. Kelly's own boss, editor Hopper (Drew Snyder), has a checkered past involving sexual assault charges and a proclivity for dating strippers, including one of the serial killer's victims.
When cop-in-charge Shaughnessy (Maxwell Caulfield) solicits Kelly's cooperation, she admits her suspicions about her sexist pig boss, but Shaughnessy collects damaging evidence against club patron Henry (Michael James McDonald), a leering customer who's handy with a blade. By the time a few more
dancers fall prey to the killer, the oddly intense policeman beds Kelly and insists she renounce her sideline on the nude dance circuit. Then, once the cops shoot nutty Henry in self-defense, the case is officially closed. Although Kelly's creepy boss bumps off Art for blackmailing him, he's not
the real culprit. Actually, the killer is the purity-obsessed cop, Shaughnessy. After Kelly realizes he's a sicko, he closes in for the kill. But never underestimate a reporter who can dance topless; Shaughnessy does his own final dance with death as Kelly literally sets him ablaze.
Some viewers may be offended by what might be considered soft-core titillation in which helpless exotic terpsichoreans are stalked to death and made to pay for the sick fantasies of male America. But since the arousal factor takes a back seat to the detective work and since just as many men die as
women during the running time, feminists may not wish to be too critical. After all, a gutsy career woman cracks the case without sacrificing her independence on the job--or in the bedroom. Even after sleeping with the handsome killer, Kelly never wavers in trying to get her scoop.
Whatever deeper meanings about career integrity or male-female relationships you care to derive from this tassel-twirler, DANCE WITH DEATH is good escapism for heavy-breathers and crime buffs alike. It may not be socially redeeming, but it never commits the cardinal sin of being boring. (Violence,
profanity, sexual situations.) leave a comment
