Bobby Jones Movies

With their father dead and their mother busy trying to land a steady beau, pretty teen Billy Jean Davy (Helen Slater) and her younger brother, Binx (Christian Slater), spend their time riding Binx's moped and dreaming of life in Vermont -- several climate zones away from the humid, omnipresent heat of their Texas town. One day, on their way from their trailer park home to a swimming hole, the Davy kids run afoul of rich boy Hubie Pyatt (Barry Tubb) and his cronies, who steal -- and later trash -- the scooter Binx bought with his father's paltry life insurance benefits. Demanding payment from Hubie and his merchant dad (Richard Bradford) for the damage that's been inflicted on both the bike and her brother's face, Billie Jean narrowly escapes being raped by the elder Pyatt. In the ensuing scuffle, Binx accidentally shoots Mr. Pyatt, sending himself, Billie Jean, and their friends, Ophelia (Martha Gehman) and Putter (Yeardley Smith), on the lam. When the "Billie Jean Gang" becomes a media sensation, Pyatt capitalizes on their notoriety by selling T-shirts and bric-a-brac, while policeman Ringwald (Peter Coyote), who feels guilty for having refused to help Billie Jean, tries to bring the kids in without anyone getting hurt. However, when the gang mock-kidnaps rich amateur filmmaker Lloyd (Keith Gordon), unaware that he's the district attorney's son, the situation spins out of control. Soon, Lloyd's videotape of the suddenly crop-topped, Joan of Arc-emulating, eminently telegenic Billie Jean elevates a local headline into a national sensation, and even Lloyd's attraction to Billie Jean can't protect her from the media lightning rod she's become. The Legend of Billie Jean marks the screen debut of Christian Slater, who is no relation to co-star Helen Slater. Actor Gordon, who made his debut as a screenwriter with Mark Romanek's Static the year Billie Jean came out, would go on to direct a number of critically acclaimed films. ~ Brian J. Dillard, Rovi

This 1971 exploitation vehicle is primarily designed for maximum squirms, produced as it was at the height of the true-life killer's notoriety, but it's notable for the efforts made by the filmmakers to include authentic case details while theorizing about the identity of the still-unapprehended serial slayer. Opening with a major red herring in the guise of a trucker who claims to be the Zodiac before being killed by police in a domestic violence standoff, we're eventually introduced to the real psycho, a postal worker named Jerry (Hal Reed) who breeds rabbits in his apartment and murders in order to collect slaves to serve him in the afterlife. From there on we follow Jerry as he haunts lovers lanes and beaches, shooting and stabbing his victims while wearing the same bizarre black outfit described by survivors of the real-life Zodiac's attacks. For dramatic purposes, though, the film presents no survivors, just deaths and occasional near misses when Jerry decides that a potential victim won't serve him well in the great beyond. The low budget contributes to the film's tense, depressing atmosphere, and while no performance is more than simply credible, Reed is effective as the arrogant Zodiac, taunting the police and the press with his defiant letters and phone calls. The film ends with the haunting image of Jerry helping an old woman across the street while he addresses the audience directly, letting us know that we're all potential targets, not only in danger from him but from the hundreds of surreptitious killers just like the Zodiac who roam unfettered and unlikely to be caught. Perhaps The Zodiac Killer's most horrifying moment, however, is a brief cameo by comedian and former Spike Jones Orchestra member Doodles Weaver, who provides a bitterly zealous rant against women that feels uncomfortably real. ~ Fred Beldin, Rovi