Superlative Slaughter

I know the pain of high school is one of pop culture's most fertile wells, but I still don't quite get the obsession. I was a chubby, nerdy, flute playing drama club participating badminton playing National Honor Society treasurer who loved horror movies and yet I can't point to one moment where I felt targeted by the cheerleaders and quarterbacks. On the flip side, I don't ever recall setting up the kind of prank that would break a teenager's psyche and send such an outcast down a deadly spiral of vengeance.

Perhaps that's a good thing, since it means I'll never end up in a slasher.

Quick Plot: A gaggle of mostly attractive 28-year-olds are assembling for their ten-year high school reunion. Hosting the pre-gaming is Ryan, a professional hockey player who was just released from his contract by the NY Rangers. When his girlfriend Ashley arrives at his empty coastal mansion to cheer him up, she ends up murdered in a method that brings her high school superlative to life: most likely to end up with her name in lights.

Though Ryan is missing, the rest of his pals obliviously assemble to drink beer, play in a hot tub, and spend a lot of time using poker as a metaphor. Millennials truly are the worst.

As the night goes on, our gang of extremely attractive (and Perez Hilton) victims-to-be discover someone--most likely the outcast whom they bullied into oblivion--is on the hunt, taking each one down with some sort of cute wordplay on their senior year fame.

Most Likely to Die is essentially a 21st century take on Slaughter High. Considering nearly 80% of slashers get their start from a bullied weirdo delivering comeuppance, there's absolutely nothing wrong with that in concept and in the case of this film, execution. It's perfectly fine.

That's not necessarily the glowing endorsement I was hoping to have. Headed by Glee's secret weapon Heather Morris, the cast is (with one obvious exception) better than average, and we even get Jake Busey in the role of, well, essentially, Gary Busey. The violence finds a good balance between wackiness and realistic pain, and the pacing is done in just the right way.

But, well, I don't know. There's something lacking in Most Likely to Die, some spark or special tone to really make it pop.  As a mindless and slickly done slasher with some humor, it's absolutely solid entertainment. As a movie I'll remember two years from now, it's absolutely a movie I'll check Letterboxd to confirm that I watched.

High/Low Point Tie
On one hand, Perez Hilton is the worst thing in this movie. On the other, his lady screams are so perfectly shrill that they genuinely brighten the entire scene. We're calling this one a stalemate

Lessons Learned
You do not get laid by leading your girlfriend into opening a closet with precariously stacked items just waiting to tumble on her little blond head

The cure for a gushing stab wound is boiled water

Seriously, don't bully the awkward kid in high school. HAVE YOU LEARNED NOTHING?

Rent/Bury/Buy

If you're looking for a light-spirited throwback slasher, Most Likely to Die is more than adequate to pass the time. I can't quite put my finger on what's missing here, but it didn't charm me the way I was hoping. My pickiness aside, this is a perfectly fine modern horror film that may awaken your nostalgia for that tried and true subgenre of nerd vengeance. 

Reader Recommendation: Terror Train

“I guess I'll go with Terror Train.  You must, must, must see this slasher.  Jamie Lee Curtis and David Copperfield??  Copperfield should be enough to pull you in.  It's one of [the Naked Eskimo]'s all time favorite slashers.  Plus, it takes place in a train!  Claustrophobia!  It's also an instant play from Netflix.  You wouldn't have to wait for it!”--Recommended by the Bodacious Barbarella Cult

I did not wait for Terror Train. In fact, I’ve decided to do a new sort of Netflixing where I close my eyes, press a bunch of buttons and hit ‘ok’ when I feel inclined. And that my friends is how I decided to finally watch the infamous Canadian pleasure, Terror Train.

Quick Plot: Like every ‘80s slasher, Terror Train begins with a prank gone wrong as premed fraternity brothers haze Kenny, a nerd (identified as such by his thick glasses, naturally) by cock teasing him with Alana, played by original scream queen Jamie Lee Curtis (save your hermaphrodite jokes for the showers boys). Due to some confusingly hung drapery and Kenny’s overreaction to kissing a corpse, the poor geek gets the crazies and we flash forward three years.

To celebrate their last winter break, the now senior fraternity members and their gal pals don Halloween costumes and take a rather awesome old fashioned train ride, complete with uncomfortable cots, tiny bathrooms, a band composed of high fashion hipsters who don't play their own instruments, and...get this, David Copperfield!

The rails are rocking harder than Night Train to Terror  (not true; nothing rocks harder than Night Train to Terror) but before you can say all aboard, a mysterious masked man has swiped a frat boy’s Groucho Marx disguise and begun a slow but steady killing spree of some of the past prank participants. The only person that seems to be actively doing anything about it is the kindly conductor Carne, played by lovable presence Ben Johnson. 

I won’t spoil the twist of Terror Train, a neat little plot point that’s both slightly predictable but really not. People die. The killer is revealed. I giggle. And Jamie Lee Curtis cries. You know the story.

High Points

You can’t not love the setting, an antiquated (unless you travel through Russia) train that instantly offers plenty of claustrophobic and inescapable titular terror

In these kinds of movies, it’s always good to have a hateable antagonist due for a painful demise and Terror Train packs a doozie with Hart Bochner’s Doc. With his smarmy attitude and girl-shriek, Bochner (who later went on to play another smarmy doomed fella in Die Hard and, more importantly, directed one of the best Jon Lovitz vehicles of all time, High School High) is like a slightly taller Tom Cruise, possible homosexuality and all.

(You sir, are no match for Hans Gruber.)

Low Points

Aside from its fantastic location, there’s just nothing that different about Terror Train to make it overly memorable. Sure, it’s better in quality than Slaughter High  or Graduation Day, but just about every character and plot point feels like it was taken out of a slasher recipe book and served on an assembly line-run cafeteria

Lessons Learned

The best magic trick of all involves super fast nail polish removal

Shaking your dead and bleeding friend generally does not bring him back to life. Perhaps that’s something learned in med school, as opposed to undergraduate university

Much like Jamie Lee, David Copperfield tragically missed out on a promising career as a disco dancer

Dear nerds of the world: I don’t know how many movies can support this before you take note, but please believe me when I say the gorgeous popular girl does not want to sleep with you and if she does, she probably isn’t going to tell the whole school about it in order to lure you to her bed

Rent/Bury/Buy

Terror Train is the very epitome of all that’s good and bad about the ‘80s slasher. Each character fits the exact role card required (good girl, slutty girl, slightly bad girl, bad handsome boy, likable chubby dude, wimpy boyfriend, second kill black guy, etc.) and with the exception of a slightly bizarre reveal, nothing really surprises the modern viewer. That being said, any slasher fan will nostalgically grin at seeing JLC cut some dance moves and a masked baddie ax his way through bratty coeds. The film is currently streaming on Instant Watch which is pretty much where it should be seen. Not really worth a whole lot of energy investment, but vital for those slasher completists.

Slaughterhouse Santa

Words don’t express how sad I am that I’ve gone 27 December 25ths without seeing Don’t Open ‘Til Christmas, but that’s what Mill Creek 50 packs were made for. And along with the soon-to-be-purchased boxed set of Silent Night, Deadly Night 3-5, I now have a new film to add to my annual yuletide viewing. Good thing the Muppet’s 2008 holiday special was rather lame. Not lame enough for Santa to be killed by a pocket-knife wielding psycho, but just under the bar set by Michael Kane, a Fraggle crossover, and Scooter in a go-go cage for Don’t Open ‘Til Christmas to claim its place under my tree.

Quick Plot: There’s a murderer on the loose in London and his targets laugh like a bowl full of jelly, sometimes while chit chatting with sex workers or humorously riding bicycles. An unnecessary and rather inconsistent prologue follows a young necking couple parked in public in the middle of the night (no shot of the street sign reading Lovers’ Lane) as they meet their end by a guy seeming to hold a knife and camera. It’s actually an impressive feat of balance, although the fact that throughout the film, the killer only stalks Santa Clauses and this opening murder makes absolutely no sense in context is something we’ll brush aside in the name of prologue.

Meanwhile, the coolest people I’ve ever seen on film are having a total Halloween-esque costume party to welcome the Christmas season, but sadly, festivities are cut short when the host is stabbed in the back of the head in front of all to see. A few more polyester white beard clad impostors are knocked off in a grab bag of styles, including gunshot, shoe knife slices, castration while urinating, and, in a stroke of true Kris Kringly genius, face roasting on an open fire (previously used to warm chestnuts, of course).

Now, I realize there was no widespread Internet in the 1980s as Al Gore had not yet sought a patent, but I’ve seen my share of spinning newspaper reels to know the general public should have been fairly aware that a serial killer was hungry for a very particular type of victim. So. Why, oh why, would one continue to travel the streets in a red velour jumpsuit? Is the call of St. Nick stronger than that of the Pony Express? It’s an unanswered question in a film that doesn’t really demand anything, so I’ll let this go because, you know what? I loved this movie, and an informed public would imply less dead Santas.

Our main heroine is the rich daughter of the first slain St. Nick, although she gets some stiff competition from Experience Girl (or so the IMDB listing credits her; I'd love to harp on the insanity of this naming, but then I'd forget that Kelly Baker was also in Slaughter High , so we'll move on) who works in what I guess is an old time nudie booth, here portrayed as a store window with prison-style phones for chatting and the option of boobs. There’s also Cliff, (Gerry Sundquist), a flute playing fashion photographer and (according the the trailer) Number One Suspect, and the skeevy Inspector Harris, played by director Edmund Purdom (clearly a man of many talents). We don’t have any reason to like any of them, but by the time the killer reveals his tormented self, the audience is having more fun than a spangly dressed elf gulping eggnog on a strobe-lit disco floor.  

High Points

Am I getting soft, or was the first shot of the plastic mask somewhat unnerving?

The final flashback, wherein we discover the motive for our killer’s hatred of all things tinseled, is absolutely incredible. By that, I mean it makes the death of Billy’s parents in the original Silent Night, Deadly Night look like Citizen Kane...which is sooooooo much less exciting than the intense use of slow motion and echoed sound cues utilized by Purdom here

You have to love a film released in 1984 that still managed to sneak in a complete disco number, performed, no less, by genre fave (and also Slaughter High graduate) Caroline Munro

Low Points

It’s hard to really spot them since this is the kind of movie where all the “bad” aspects (such as the humorously overdramatic score) make it so much fun to watch. I suppose the biggest annoyance is the fact that for the first hour, the only murdered victims are total strangers and thus, we’re less invested in their deaths than we are shopping for a Secret Santa in the office whose name we’re lucky to remember

A somewhat suspenseful and drawn-out cat-and-mouse chase with a gang-fearing Santa Claus in a toy factory has a rather humbug payoff

Lessons Learned

Models should never be photographed too much for fear of being overexposed. This may have been a cute dumb blond pun, but it doesn't really work when the actress has a lower IQ and sense of wordplay than the dumb blond she's portraying

Men with perms do not instill fear upon a 21st century audience

When expressing that you’re “bloody furious,” it's far more effective when you show the slightest trace of emotion in your voice

Murderous Christmas-hating psychotics have mastered the art of smizing (trademarked by Tyra Banks for “smiling with your eyes”)

Time flies really fast when you’re being chased by a serial killer. It can go from night to sunny daylight in the snap of your finger!


Most women are surprisingly not excited by the idea of sapphic photo shoots in Santa suits (particularly when they're mourning the murder of a family member while he happened to be dressed as such)

Repeated Confirmation of a Previous Theory

Staircases are the most lethal type of architecture one can encounter in everyday life...at least in the movies. I’ve fallen up and down many a stairway in my life, so either I’m doing something right or film characters are incredibly brittle.

Winning Line

“They’ll think we’re a couple of gays!” worries the male lead when his lady friend, dressed festively with no underthings, tries to make out in front of teenagers in a dark alleyway. Yes, that’s far more horrifying than the known madmen loose on the streets whom you’ve already witnessed kill a man.

Rent/Bury/Buy

I would never advise someone to spend more than, I don’t know, hot dog money on this film but I enjoyed the Christmas bells out of it. It’s bad in an epic way that’s incredibly watchable, with impressive and creative gore spilled throughout. I’m lucky enough to have it in my Mill Creek Drive-In Classics movie pack, which means you can probably find a copy for peanuts. Is it worth it? You’ll know how you feel about his film based on the tagline:

...t'was the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring...they were all dead!

True merriment at its best.

Back To School, Slasher Style

Amid the glut of slick remakes and grisly torture porn that has thus far defined 21st century horror films, many fans like to harp back to the good old days of Reagan politics and drive-in cinema, sometimes falsely remembering every midnight screening as the second coming of Citizen Kane. It’s easy to forget that for all its giddy spirit and musical montage-fueled plot development, the 1980s contained a fair heap of cinematic slush, quite often slasher fueled.

And so we come to Slaughter High, Final Girl Stacie Ponder’s Film Club pick for the month of Shocktober. Directed by the possibly drunken trifecta of George Dugdale, Mark Ezra (both of Living Doll), and Peter Litten (director of To Die For, not, thanks to the helpful DVD extras, to be confused with the Nicole Kidman “starrer”) this is to the 80s what something like 2008’s The Hitcher remake is to our current time. Not good. Not needed. Almost bad enough for a good time with alcohol but a tad too awful to deserve your time.

Quick Plot: The world's oldest high schoolers since Grease decide to play a nasty prank on Marty, the bespectacled science nerd with an April Fool’s birthday. Campus hot girl Carol (genre babe Caroline Munro) pretends to seduce him in the locker room shower, only to abandon the birthday boy in his birthday suit while her obnoxious friends dip him a toilet and hurt Wendy’s commercial slogans his way. The totally ungnarly gym teacher issues athletic detention, inspiring one good humored bully to play yet another prank on the unpunished Marty by spiking a joint with poison and rigging a chemistry experiment so it explodes on the science whiz (because innocent whoopee cushions were soooo 1985). Add a jar of precariously placed nitric acid and it’s safe to say young Marty is having the worst birthday since Samantha Baker turned 16.

Ten years later (we assume), our gang of no goodniks return to their alma mater for a private high school reunion, this time as the world’s oldest looking twentysomethings. First, we get a far too long and incredibly dull scene establishing Carol as an up-and-coming actress unwilling to show her goods in a crappy little horror film (for those interested, Ms. Munro does not show her goods in this crappy little horror film either, although several others do so unimpressively). Other characters in this too-large group include a poor man’s Michael Imperioli complete with Joisey voice who seems to be something of a lead, a brassy blond with a randomly South Carolinean accent, and a few more soon-to-be victims who have just about nothing to offer the audience aside from their deaths.

Nobody seems to think it odd that only the cool kids have been invited to this reunion, nor does it raise an eyebrow that it’s being held in the rat-infested high school now abandoned (yet oddly enough, equipped with a working bathtub and fresh body wash). The school caretaker--why he still has to take care of a closed public school is unclear--pops by for a jump scare before being crucified on a graffitied locker as the old friends catch up the best way they know how: soulful bonding over recreational drugs. One of the more annoying male members gulps down a beer and quickly experiences an Alien-ish stomach eruption, minus the charismatic little creature (a shame, since it would have been more interesting than anyone else in this film). Cue frantic running around the dark empty hallways, splitting up for no apparent reason, random boob shots of women who may, if lucky, receive ribbons for participation in wet t-shirt contests, and poorly timed revelations about unseen children’s paternity. 

Yup, Marty’s back and he’s mildly pissed because, you know, these former big kids on campus ruined his social cred and mangled his face. The 99 pound weakling apparently spent the last ten years mastering the art of playing dead, then getting up really quickly and quietly so that several characters can glance at where his body should’ve been and gasp. Ugh.

Slaughter High is not a good movie, nor is it lovably bad like The Pit or slightly innovative and goofy around the likes of Hellgate. With three men credited for directing, it’s easy to see the many places the film went wrong. It’s never clear if we’re supposed to be screaming or laughing at some of the kills, most of which are gory but not particularly well executed. A bombastic score does nothing to heighten drama and the lighting and staging choices are so fuzzily dark that it’s often hard to understand what actually is going on. All this is bad enough, but what ultimately slaughters Slaughter High is its student population.

Normally, character isn’t something we expect to be focused on in a cheap slasher. Aside from the awesomeness of being able to say Kevin Bacon and neck spear in the same sentence, it’s a challenge to name any actor who met his fate at Camp Crystal Lake. The problem with Slaughter High, much like the recent F13 “reboot,” is that it overloads itself with an unruly number of characters while making us care about absolutely none of them. Munro’s Carol has no redeeming factor to make a final girl worth rooting for, while her posse of friends range from white bread bland to ungodly off-putting. Worst of all, Marty himself offers us nothing as either a victim or killer. Sure, I pity any picked-on geek on instinct, but give me one more reason to actually like him. In his one scene of dialogue, Marty comes across as whiny and dumb. My sympathies lied with no one.

At a certain point, however, Slaughter High dragged me into it enough that I was able to keep two eyes onscreen for the last twenty minutes. By then, it seems to be noon the next day (what the last couple of victims were doing for 6 hours is unexplained), which is apparently just enough time to resurrect a few corpses for a fantasy zombie sequence and toss in an unexplained twist rife with sequel and Halloween costume potential. If only anyone could care enough about this movie to get the naughty nurse in drag look.

High Points

I can’t complain about the look of the killer. The jester hat with a wrinkled old man rubber mask had a spark of creepiness about it

You have to love the totally 80s cheesiness of the poster art, even if it does bear a slight resemblance to what I imagine the Killer Condom looked like in his graduation photo

Low Points

You’d think that by featuring older actors with new life problems and what-if wonderings about their high school years, the cast could conjure up some interesting interpersonal relationships. You’d be wrong

Lessons Learned

A caretaker takes care of places

Avoid wearing jingly bell accessories if your main activity of the evening is scheduled to be stalking

When in the 80s, do coke

Gym sneakers retain their exact scent for ten years

If you have the chance to beat a psychotic murderer to near death with a baseball bat, it’s best to not drop the weapon at the mildly bruised killer’s feet and slowly run away

Trust me: the prom queen does not want to have sex with you in the girl’s locker room

Rent/Bury/Buy

Hardcore 80s slasher fans may get a kick out of this little remnant of a time passed, but most others should avoid the temptation of the somewhat kickass poster art. The sole DVD extra is a Pop-Up Video-ish trivia track that occasionally plays under the action to provide viewers with such life changing knowledge as “the hockey mask is a reference to the 1980 slasher film, Friday the 13th.” Random fun facts do offer something new; I only learned here that Nebraska was the last state to ban the electric chair, although what that has to do with Slaughter High isn’t spelled out for us in multiple choice quiz question. Perhaps the best tidbit comes in a True/False question: Actor Simon Scuddamore, who played Marty, died from an intentional overdose shortly after this film’s shooting. When that’s the most interesting thing about your movie, you have a problem.

Don’t forget to head over to Final Girl’s site for a roundup of other bloggers bravely travailing the muck that is Slaughter High. You never know: someone might have given it a passing grade. That someone would have bad taste.

Says the person about to fall asleep with a Sunday night showing of Showgirls.