The above is not a direct quote, but a quote of the action. At one point, one of the girls is home alone, talking on the phone, and tells the person on the phone that she has to go because she thinks she hears someone. She hangs up the phone and walks immediately over to the piano and starts playing. Now, I normally reserve my votes of one out of ten for movies that are absolutely incomprehensible on any level. Slumber Party Massacre has a definitely decipherable plot, but the plot is nothing but a flimsy clothesline along which are staged a lot of cheap thrills and boring murder scenes.
And, ironically enough, even in the case of a movie that is obviously driven by nudity (of which the film features remarkably little), I don't mean cheap thrills as far as shower scenes or lingerie scenes or any weak trash like that. You have the screeching cat scare, half a dozen or so friends sneaking up on people and viciously grabbing their shoulder from behind or something, only to throw up their hands like, What? What? I scared you? Each successive one making this movie more and more of an endurance test than the weak horror, awful acting, or abysmal script-writing could ever do.
And who's the killer? No one. Some tool in cowboy boots and a lot of denim. Evidently he's an escaped mass murderer who went on a killing spree in the late 60s, which I guess would explain why he appears to be nothing but a middle-aged man with graying hair and a three foot drill. It's like they picked some jerk off the street and said Hey, hold this drill and let us film you running around this locker room for a little while. That should be good enough for this movie.
I love all of the attempts to impose some deep women's lib meaning into this movie by commenting on the obviously phallic drill that this jean-jacket-clad maniac chases these women around with. Not that there's anything wrong with the women's liberation movement or implying that a film like this has any meaning in regards to the plight of women, I just think it's really funny to inject meaning into a film as meaningless as this one.
(spoilers) There's one scene at the end of the film where there is a weak attempt to suggest the insanity of the killer as he mumbles his total of I think 21 spoken words (not including the gibberish he screams after he gets his hand cut off), the first few of which are, "You're all so pretty," and, shockingly enough, "I love you." Very cute, it's too bad this sudden moment of character depth comes so far out of left field that it is memorable simply because of its separation with the rest of the film than any meaning it might carry.
Joseph Ulibas (my neighbor right over in Sacramento) makes an interesting comment that Freud would have loved to psychoanalyze the killer in this movie. Sure, this last scene definitely implies some serious sexual anxiety, as this is apparently a man who gets his thrills by killing pretty women that he loves, but to be perfectly honest, I think Freud would have more of a field day analyzing the writers and, at least as much, whoever it was that read the script and decided that this would be a good movie.
And, ironically enough, even in the case of a movie that is obviously driven by nudity (of which the film features remarkably little), I don't mean cheap thrills as far as shower scenes or lingerie scenes or any weak trash like that. You have the screeching cat scare, half a dozen or so friends sneaking up on people and viciously grabbing their shoulder from behind or something, only to throw up their hands like, What? What? I scared you? Each successive one making this movie more and more of an endurance test than the weak horror, awful acting, or abysmal script-writing could ever do.
And who's the killer? No one. Some tool in cowboy boots and a lot of denim. Evidently he's an escaped mass murderer who went on a killing spree in the late 60s, which I guess would explain why he appears to be nothing but a middle-aged man with graying hair and a three foot drill. It's like they picked some jerk off the street and said Hey, hold this drill and let us film you running around this locker room for a little while. That should be good enough for this movie.
I love all of the attempts to impose some deep women's lib meaning into this movie by commenting on the obviously phallic drill that this jean-jacket-clad maniac chases these women around with. Not that there's anything wrong with the women's liberation movement or implying that a film like this has any meaning in regards to the plight of women, I just think it's really funny to inject meaning into a film as meaningless as this one.
(spoilers) There's one scene at the end of the film where there is a weak attempt to suggest the insanity of the killer as he mumbles his total of I think 21 spoken words (not including the gibberish he screams after he gets his hand cut off), the first few of which are, "You're all so pretty," and, shockingly enough, "I love you." Very cute, it's too bad this sudden moment of character depth comes so far out of left field that it is memorable simply because of its separation with the rest of the film than any meaning it might carry.
Joseph Ulibas (my neighbor right over in Sacramento) makes an interesting comment that Freud would have loved to psychoanalyze the killer in this movie. Sure, this last scene definitely implies some serious sexual anxiety, as this is apparently a man who gets his thrills by killing pretty women that he loves, but to be perfectly honest, I think Freud would have more of a field day analyzing the writers and, at least as much, whoever it was that read the script and decided that this would be a good movie.