Director Nico Mastorakis has insisted Island of Death was made with purely mercenary motives, to deliver a large profit and gain bankability as a professional filmmaker, not to express any antisocial tendencies of his own. It's a relief, because this graphic Grecian protoslasher is one of the most perverse exploitation films released to the public, a laundry list of outrages that will cause the viewer to wonder what kind of mind could conceive such a monstrosity. Clean-cut couple Christopher and Celia (Robert Behling and Jessica Dublin) arrive on the peaceful isle of Mykonos for some rest and relaxation; however, it's soon apparent that their idea of a vacation involves the brutal murders of townspeople they deem sinful and unworthy. Their enmity for homosexuals, adultery, and drug addiction results in various creative death scenes, including a beheading by bulldozer and a high-altitude lynching from the wing of an airborne plane. But this aggressive prudishness is at odds with Christopher's early-morning rape and murder of an innocent sheep, not to mention his clear sexual delight at the snuff photos Celia takes to document each slaying. As the killings persist, Celia begins feeling uneasy, questioning the morality of their deeds and fearing capture; eventually a prophetic dream she has will come true, leading to a conclusion involving forced sodomy, incest, and a deadly pit of limestone.
While Island of Death is obviously calculated to offend and/or titillate with its gratuity, Mastorakis takes the film in interesting directions. In his brief appearance as a journalist investigating the deadly lovers before alerting the authorities, Mastorakis seems to quietly apologize for creating the film, asserting himself as one who chronicles horrific acts, but refuses responsibility for them. Christopher narrates and the events unfold from the killers' point of view, resulting in mundane scenes of crime preparation ("Wait, I forgot the gun") that provide a weird insight into the characters, although never enough to sway sympathy away from the victims. The rich cinematography captures the beautiful Greek seaside and the quaint village residing there, incorporating authentic local folk as unwitting minor players. Still, these distinctions are incidental and don't elevate Island of Death beyond the stated goal of sickening its audience. Horror-show fans seeking new, unsettling thrills won't be disappointed with this unique atrocity, which delivers ghoulish psychosexual content without completely conforming to convention.