If you're looking for a horror film with good taste, subtlety and refinement, keep on walking, because Pieces is most definitely not that film. If, on the other hand, you're looking for a good trashy slab of late-night cheese riddled with inane dialogue, goofs, bad acting, buckets of gore and lashings of lovely sleaze, then you have just been handed the keys to the kingdom. Every bit as deranged and gleefully disgusting as you'd expect from a collision of the dubious talents of Joe D'Amato, Dick Randall and Juan Piquer Simon (to say nothing of Christopher George, Lynda Day George and a long past-his-prime Edmund Purdom), [i]Pieces[/i] offers up a piping hot goulash of blood, offal, misogyny, homophobia, scattershot exploitation and giallo elements, hands you a ladle (a measly spoon's no good with portions this size) and invites you to dig in. 'You don't have to go to Texas for a chainsaw massacre!', advised one tagline. Indeed you don't. Another tagline screamed 'It's exactly what you think it is!' - and indeed it is. Loud, outrageous, messy, laughable, repulsive, disjointed, nonsensical and above all tremendous fun, Pieces deserves to be seen by every fan of lurid eighties horror at least once.