"People automatically assume whatever I say, whatever comes out of my mouth, is a lie," car salesman Michael Bennett says at the beginning of Slasher. The film—John Landis' first in six years, and his first documentary, and his first digital-video project—doesn't do much to change that impression. A lively look at "slashers," hired-gun salesmen who travel the country running liquidation sales for struggling car dealers, Slasher functions as something halfway between a character portrait and an exposé of the shady business of high-pressure used-car sales.
Landis (Animal House, Blues Brothers) starts off with a pointed montage linking Bennett to famous political lies, from Richard Nixon's "I never obstructed justice" speech to George W. Bush claiming that WMDs have been found in Iraq. But after that, he drops back to a staccato but gimmick-free study of Bennett, a vibrating, profane ex-con who looks a bit like John Waters on coke. Bennett lives in California with his wife and two children, but he's gone for weeks at a time, flying around the country; car dealerships pay him and his staff of "mercenary salesmen" $12,000 for a four-day stint, during which he's expected to sell at least 50 cars if he wants to make his bonus. Slasher follows Bennett to a Memphis gig, where he sweats, swears, and hustles, spending his nights with alcohol, seedy motels, and strip joints, and his days sweet-talking potential buyers and pep-talking dubious-looking local salesmen. His ads promise cars "from $88," but there's only one such clunker on the lot, and it's hidden behind a much higher price tag. Prospective buyers have to investigate every car and call Bennett over to personally slash the price, which might eventually, with enough prompting, drop to $88. The salesmen hate the bargain-hunters, who are an unprofitable waste of time, while the bargain-hunters likely hate the salesmen, who lure them in with a lie and then try to strong-arm them into spending money they don't have. Even the obvious joy of the $88 buyers doesn't always last, as Landis reveals when a crew follows the "winners" home.
The entire sales process, revealed tricks of the trade and all, could be deeply depressing. But Landis treats it like a three-ring circus, chopping it into quick cuts, peppering it with shots of Memphis at its glitzy best and decaying worst, and setting the whole loudmouthed mess to Stax soul. The result is spirited, but also honest and revealing on all sides. It makes for the kind of film that pleases viewers on two levels: one, because it's highly entertaining, and two, because they can feel relieved that they're not anywhere near either side of the wheeling and dealing.