Hard to Die (1990)

Hard to Die is the kind of gloriously disreputable late-night B-movie that knows exactly what it is: a high-rise slasher that plays like an action-thriller filtered through wink-at-the-camera cheesecake and a steady drip of outrageous escalation. Jim Wynorski keeps the energy up with tight, trashy momentum—neon-lit hallways, a killer stalking the empty building, and a tone that’s more “how much crazier can this get?” than grim despair. If you’re on the fence, the appeal is its genre-mixing glee: it’s scary-adjacent, funny in that knowingly cheesy way, and oddly crowd-pleasing when you’re in the mood for something unapologetically pulpy. Fair warning, though: the NC-17 rating isn’t decorative—there’s frequent nudity and very bloody violence—so it’s best for viewers who want their schlock loud, lurid, and proudly over the top.

Hard to Die is trying to mash up a sleazy, tongue-in-cheek slasher with action-movie bravado, essentially trapping a group of women in a high-rise and letting the mayhem (and the camera) linger. The problem is it plays less like a clever parody and more like a repetitive rehash, with absurd beats that feel accidental rather than sharp, and a heavy reliance on nudity to fill the gaps where suspense and character work should be. If you want a tight thriller or even a genuinely scary horror ride, this will likely feel cheap, mean, and oddly monotonous despite the body count. That said, if you’re specifically in the mood for a trashy, low-budget Wynorski-style romp with lots of skin, splattery gore, and zero shame, it delivers exactly that.