ICED (1988) - putting bros before hoes on the ski slopes will make a dead homie go "ah, hell noes!"

VHS cover yo. Old Skool is the only way. Considering it was released direct to VHS and promptly forgotten, it's REALLY the only way.

Slightly cracked schlub Jeff invites a girl on a ski trip with his friends, but she starts getting frisky with one of the other dudes (not cool bro). Jeff naturally challenges him to a skiing duel, which he promptly loses, as he is, quite frankly, hot garbage on the slopes. His one true love goes off to have sex with his now arch nemesis, and Jeff uses this opportunity to get drunk and hit the slopes again (not for another duel, but rather for therapeutic purposes). He crashes head first into a rock, orange visor and all, (in a charming bit of slapstick) and is presumed dead.

Four years later, these same asshole friends (minus Jeff) get together for another skiing trip. Unfortunately for them, somebody wearing a cracked orange visor (for POV shots they just stick the visor on the camera lens like some retarded version of 3-D) is killing them off with skiing-related implements (like a snow plow, for example). This may tie it in to the earlier incident, considering Jeff’s orange visor was cracked in the skiing accident. But maybe I’m jumping to conclusions.

So, a skier loses his girl to his skiing buddy, which leads to a skiing duel, which he loses, which leads to him ski alone, which causes his supposed death, which leads to a series of ski related murders at a ski resort. While earlier films Blood Tracks and Satan’s Blade flirted with the idea of a ski slasher, Iced, the ne plus ultra of this sub sub-genre, really runs with the idea, right into a snow drift of cocaine, failing and achieving victory in equal measure.

As in Blood Frenzy (which is the trailer trash cousin to Iced), it is Wednesday from The Addams Family (Lisa Loring with giant, teased hair) that provides the thespian spark to keep the film afloat. Look no further than the scene where she is soaking in a hot tub, doggedly pursuing her goal of clean, soapy mammary glands, when our killer happens upon her. Suspense is ratcheted up a notch while the killer is presented with two obvious options:

1. Grab a bar of soap and assist Lisa with her scrubbing chore.
2. Take photographs and sell them on eBay.

Our killer, cracked psyche and all, goes off the charts, choosing none of the above and instead throwing a space heater into the tub, electrocuting poor Wednesday in her Sunday best.


Although I don’t want to give away the identity of the killer (honestly I don’t even remember who it was), I cannot sit idly by and not make mention of the superlative second twist ending. Flash forward five years. The naïve schmoe in us assumes all is well. The surviving couple leads an idyllic life, represented by their kids building a big snowman in the front yard. Lo and behold, the snowman starts to bleed from the eye socket. Suddenly, the killer skier (wearing skis, mind you), bursts out of the snowman, ready to unleash another scourge of ice cold unwholesomeness.

His psyche was so far gone that he could not even comprehend his own death during the first twist ending. Instead, he found the future couple’s home and hid underneath the front lawn for five years. He waited for a snowman to be built over top of where he lay, and then preceded to saw through the snowman so he could fit into its shell (without having it crumble or arising suspicion). When the moment was least expected, their lives most idyllic, the pain of past trauma seemingly erased, he leaps out, continuing his ski-implement assisted slaughter on a suburban street in broad daylight.

No jury would ever believe a story like that! It’s perfect! BWAAAA HAAA HAA HAA!!!