This post-Watergate film about the dormant psycho-killer properties of a batch of bad LSD-25 had the potential to be a stinging indictment of generational self-immolation. Instead it looks and feels like an episode of CHiPs. And that ain’t a good thing. I know this is a cult classic but I found little to get excited about other than really cheesy performances and decked-out 70s malls.
