My review was written in May 1987 after a screening at Liberty theater on Manhattan's 42nd St.
"Necropolis" poses the thorny question: how does Empire pictures' brass decide which of their films will be released theatrically? This meager, N. Y.-lensed effort is far below the level of quality of several of Empire's recent direct-to-video releases, yet it popped up unannounced on 42nd Street on a triple bill to bore the pants off a horror-hungry audience. Home viewers at least will have a fast-forward option.
By an unfortunate application of the Peter Principle, erstwhile bit player LeeAnne Baker graduates to a leading role here, sashaying trashily through "Necropolis" as a 300-plus-year-old devil worshiper, preying upon New Yorkers to suck out their lifeforce. It seems, per a ludicrously cheap prolog set in New Amsterdam in 1686, that she was interrupted in a satanic ritual and must now complete it in order to obtain eternal lif for herself and a grisly bunch of ghouls. Most interesting gimmick is an Ed French makeup effect giving Baker three sets of breasts with which to sucklethe ghouls with the genre's requisite (ever since "Alien") daily requirement of KY jelly.
Al Pacino-lookalike Michael Conte unconvincingly plays the cop on the case, while British-accented Jacquie Fitz is a bland heroine and William K. Reed the neighborhood black reverend, ever ready with a set of wooden crosses to stake Baker and her ghouls.
Campiest material has b aker, looking hideous with short-cropped platinum blonde hairdo, eyelids covered in black, garbed in trashy black outfits emulating Vanity and Madonna, doing exotic dnces by herself without warning. Under Bruce Hickey's limp and static direction, even this isn't funny on a camp level.
