[The following review contains MAJOR SPOILERS; YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]
For approximately ninety percent of its (extremely brief) running time, The Slumber Party Massacre is, to put it bluntly, an atrociously bad slasher flick. The cinematography is flat and inert, depriving the action of any semblance of suspense, atmosphere, or urgency. Interminably long, monotonous scenes awkwardly limp towards flaccid payoffs; neither the scares nor the jokes land successfully, further muddling the already inconsistent tone. The performances are wooden at best, making it virtually impossible to get invested in the conflict. Perhaps most damningly, the psychotic killer du jour is relatively uninspired, lacking the distinguishing features (sinister mask, grotesque deformity) that might otherwise have allowed him to compete with such horror icons as Jason Voorhees and Freddy Krueger; he’s just a generic dude, bland and unmemorable. Indeed, that basically sums up the movie as whole: dull, tedious, and excruciatingly boring.
Until, that is, the plot arrives at the climactic showdown, whereupon the murderer directly addresses his would-be victim for the first time, thus providing a glimpse into his twisted subconscious:
I love you. It takes a lot of love for somebody to do this. You know you want it.
Those chilling lines of dialogue almost redeem the entire film—almost. Suddenly, the feminist subtext that was heretofore obscured by layers of gratuitous nudity and obligatory exploitative content bursts to the surface of the narrative. The phallic implications of the villain’s weapon of choice (an enormous power drill), for example, are revealed to be totally intentional—especially once the Final Girl manages to damage the comically oversized tool, symbolically castrating her tormentor. Even the antagonist’s nondescript physical appearance resonates with newfound thematic significance: the ultimate threat to our heroine’s safety isn’t some hulking brute wielding a machete or a scarred dream demon with razors for fingers, but rather a random face in the crowd, seemingly mundane and unassuming. It’s social commentary of the highest caliber—compelling, insightful, and (unfortunately) still relevant.
I sincerely wish that it was in service of a better story.
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