The Slumber Party Massacre (1982)

As an avid, lifelong slasher film fan it almost embarrasses me to say I’ve never fully watched “The Slumber Party Massacre” (1982). I can vaguely recall seeing bits & pieces of it (or one of its sequels) on USA’s Up All Night with Rhonda Shear sometime in the early ‘90s. Those viewings, however, were more than likely focused on spying whatever softcore T&A managed to evade network censors. There wasn’t a wealth of nudie content for a 12-year-old kid to peruse back in the pre-internet days. Once I got older and developed a cinematic taste, I (foolishly) looked at the film as what would likely be a low-budget throwaway slasher more interested in showing off boobs than anything else. Not that there’s anything wrong with that… Point being, the series was written off in my mind. And what a mistake that was because director Amy Jones’ debut is a riotous slice of trash cinema every horror fan should watch. It’s purposely full of every cliché in the book, playing more like a parody of early’80s slasher films than anything. And that’s because the script started as a parody. Only the filmmakers decided to shoot it straight without playing up the humorous elements, giving this film the unique distinction of playing up every aspect of slasher film fans wanted to see while at the same time riffing on it with deadpan direction.

As we learn via a newspaper headline seen during the opening, mass murderer Russ Thorn has escaped from a mental institution and is on the loose. Trish (Michelle Michaels), a high school senior on the basketball team, decides to throw a slumber party since her parents are going away for the weekend. All of the girls agree to come, except for Valerie (Robin Stille), the new girl, because Diane (Gina Hunter) is a stuck-up bitch. Trish’s parents left their neighbor, Mr. Contant (Rigg Kennedy), in charge of looking over the girls. Surely, with his watchful eye nothing bad will happen. But Russ Thorn has plans. Big, drill-killing plans; and it isn’t very long at all before girls are impaled by his two-foot power drill.

It’s hard to watch “The Slumber Party Massacre” and not immediately consider the obvious phallic implications here. Crazy Russ Thorn, who looks like he couldn’t get a date if he paid for it, runs wild like a madman sticking his massively oversized drill into any hot young co-ed unlucky enough to be in his vicinity. Freud would have a field day with this one. To be fair, Russ isn’t discriminatory when it comes to who gets the business end of his drill because more than a couple guys are subjected to brutal facial disfigurement. That poor pizza guy…

Rita Mae Brown’s script originally started life as “Don’t Open the Door”, a straight-up parody of all things slasher. What’s interesting about that is slashers were really in their prime at this time, so to have someone scripting a send-up was a bit novel. Most of the popular slasher parody films didn’t start hitting until a few years later. Although, her decision to riff on the teen slasher craze was probably due to the fact she was a feminist who had tired of seeing women in constant distress or undress. Director Amy Jones got her start in the business by coming across Brown’s script, noticing the original prologue had key scenes she could film for a demo. She shot the opening pages with only $1000 and went to Roger Corman, King of the B-Movies, who said she had a career if she could do so much with so little. Jones actually turned down an opportunity to edit Spielberg’s “E.T.” (1982) so she could make her directorial debut here. And in true workhorse fashion, rather than trying to mitigate the amount of T&A usually required in a Corman picture, she went all-out and delivered all the goods. In her commentary, she makes mention of how if this is what Corman wanted, then she was going to deliver it in spades. Bless her.

The film benefits from having a woman both at the pen and at the helm, because the relationship between the girls feels genuine. When Diane starts complaining loudly about how lame Valerie is, the other girls on the team don’t immediately chime in and agree with her. In fact, Trish gets downright upset and blasts her for harping on the new girl. It’s refreshing to see a cast full of women who aren’t constantly catty or slutty, but, rather, acting like normal high school girls who hang out and bicker and just want some innocent fun.

The only odd one of the bunch, who isn’t even part of the basketball team, is Valerie’s younger sister, Courtney (Jennifer Meyers). Her character is… unusual. I’m guessing Meyers was older than the role called for, but rather than just accept that and play it straight she acts like a teenager/20-something pretending to be an adolescent. It’s weird.

Kudos to Michael Villella for making Russ Thorn so damn intense as a killer. Thorn prefers the method acting approach, and he made the wise decision to have zero contact with the girls during filming so there would be a disconnect between them. He only got talkative once their characters had been killed. According to the internet, cordless drills became more widespread in the early ‘80s, though I find it hard to believe Thorn could find one so massive that it could run for hours, churning chunks of flesh and bone, without needing a charge. But, man, who can argue that drill isn’t a seriously heavy piece of human wrecking power. Thorn is silent throughout the entire film, right up to the climax, but even then all he mostly says it how “pretty” the remaining girls are.

Humor is present throughout, whether intentional or not. The fact that the film was shot straight, rather than playing these hijinks up, is exactly what lends such a bizarre tonality to the picture. The obvious gags are what bring the levity, though. Like that fridge gag, which took just the right amount of time to deliver the payoff. But my favorite line from the film comes when the girls are crouched over the dead pizza guy’s body and one girl touches him, saying “He’s so cold!” causing another to question, “Is the pizza?”

“The Slumber Party Massacre” is fabulous trash cinema at its best. Nearly every scene is so outrageously over the top one can’t help but feel like they’re part of a joke that may or may not be intentional. Major kudos to Scream Factory for preserving raucous gems like this that are usually best viewed with a large, drunken audience but play just as well at home if you’re into this type of tripe.