Virginia Marcus (Eileen Lord, jumping into her role with the uncontrollable enthusiasm of one of those mythical American pill-popping housewives one hears so much about) is a wee bit mad. How mad she really is, not even her psychiatrist does realize. Which fits her plans nicely. She invents her own private game of urban safari, promising three dubious characters (a junkie, an aging actor and Jake LaMotta himself) one hundred thousand dollars each if they are able to survive being hunted for twenty-four hours.
Most of the plot is told by the junkie character at the kind of party nobody ever bothers to invite me to, so copious amounts of softcore nudity are guaranteed.
Confessions is amateurish in every way - the acting is mostly atrocious, the direction dubious and unschooled, the script all over the place. Of course these are not necessarily faults in the wonderful world of exploitation. It is true, the acting is bad, very very bad, but especially Lord is bad in all the good ways (See her screaming! See her making mad googly eyes! See her laugh maniacally!) and LaMotta at least has presence.
Director Herb Stanley certainly never heard about the rules of filmmaking, but he has a handcamera and by god, he is going to use it, sometimes to wonderful effect and sometimes mindnumbingly idiotic.
And it's hard to criticize a script that contains a scene in which Jake LaMotta fights a woman in a torero costume. Like a raging bull.
The Most Dangerous Game can be proud of its progeny.
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