Here's a rundown of all the reviews that were part of my special focus on horror films revolving around college initiation rituals. Here's the lineup yo:
Through my exploration of the genre, I think I've gathered a couple of important lessons about life and the world around us (or at least about horror movie conventions). Namely:
-Schoolwork is fucking boring. The only time a school based horror film cuts to a scene of people learning is when there is plot info to be articulated, like a teacher writing the definition for "psychopath" on a chalkboard. If learning is so uninteresting and horrible, you'd think someone would make a horror film that directly revolves around schoolwork, like a kid getting burned with a cigarette by his psycho dad every time he doesn't get an A on a math test. Actually, that sounds even more depressing than just a regular math test. Perhaps there's a good reason why this horror movie rule is rarely ever broken.
-Every couple of years, a hazing goes catastrophically sour, and some nerd suffers a horrible fate. He or she will later return, despite being disfigured or even killed, to seek revenge on those responsible (or, in fact, any and all classmates, innocent or otherwise). It's really just the same dynamic that you see in high school horror films, where a nerd is picked on, but without the Greek initiation context. Instead, the character is humiliated and/or disfigured just out of gleeful teenage cruelty (see Carrie).
-I find it pretty ironic that the supposedly manly tradition of fraternity rituals is based upon a vast array of homoerotic hazing activities, all descended from an openly gay society. I'm sure the ancient Greeks would have a hearty chuckle that their big gay fun is living on under the ironic umbrella (an umbrella covered in glitter, natch) of the ultra straight modern male.
Director Tom DeSimone must have absorbed a plethora of lessons from directing gay porn, not to mention Chatterbox, that talking vagina movie with Rip Taylor (Rip unfortunately doesn’t play the title role). This seasoning allowed him to whip up the slasher classic Hell Night, which separates itself from the usual “frat hazing hose heads mangled by man-child mongoloid” plot by making the cast members (including Linda Blair and some surfer asshole) wear gothic period costumes.
Take special note of beautiful Cindra, who lives "kinda in Van Nuys and kinda in Reseda". I think she may the girl that Tom Petty is talking about in "Free Fallin'".
Anyway, these kids have to spend the night in a creepy old mansion where a supposedly murderous “gork” named Andrew still resides. Going through my medical journals, I was unable to find a definition for the term “gork”, so I’ll naturally have to assume it is in fact not a medical affliction, but rather, a nickname given to roadies to semi-popular Russian heavy metal outfit Gorky Park. Presumably, Andrew was burnt out on consuming otherworldly amounts of vodka and raping comatose groupies, and decided to come back to the U.S.A., holding up in his murdered parent’s estate. Naturally, when frat hazing assholes decide to stay the night, play pranks on each other, and “recite” dialogue, Andrew the gork, deciding he’s had enough, attempts to murder the shit out of Linda and her compadres.
Hell Night excels amidst the usual trash, what with the tightly wound suspense (courtesy of Mr. DeSimone), and the great location. No horror movie ever suffered by taking place in a big creepy mansion, complete with cobwebs, and, most importantly, secret passages. You might be sleeping in a bed with the door locked, but, lo and behold, some hunchback maniac has access to a secret trap door and pays you a night time visit. Maybe you’re in the study, reading about the history of Pez while your headphones blast The Alan Parson’s Project on your Walkman. Suddenly, and quite unbeknownst to yourself, the bookcase swings open, and a maniac with perfect posture creeps up behind you with a trident.
Relevant footage begin at 1:22. It's a stretch, I know, but if you're gonna stretch it, do so with Bob and David I always say.
Watching Hell Night as a child terrified me, as I was not witnessing some teens being slaughtered but, true to the slasher ideal, joined them in the nearly hopeless endeavor to escape their plight. It also left me with the yearning to live in such a mansion, what with this blend of elegance and decrepitude, as well as it fostering the never ending suspicion that a clearly defined space may not in fact be what it seems.
This movie was written for the Final Girl blog film club more than a year ahead of time. That's foresight folks. Here is Stacie's review way back in 2006. Maybe she will write a new review to celebrate the film club. I do not know.
I couldn't find a trailer, but this shit rocks harder anyways
The BDB frat house is throwing a Hawaiian themed party, which is really just a standard frat party riddled with hula skirts and coconut bras. In other words, the keg is flowing, the band is rockin’, white people are dancing poorly, tits are flying out, etc., all under the pretense of paying tribute to another culture foreign to theirs (despite Hawaii being located in the same country). The BDB rules of living are as pig headed continental Americana as you can get: rock ‘til you drop, party ‘til you puke, and screw ‘til you’re blue. Not that I’m judging mind you.
“Rush week” is that time of the collegiate calendar when the expansion of the mind is put on hiatus in order to engage in some heterosexual defying pledge rituals. It officially begins when some guy cuts a bit of twine with a battle axe, accompanied by some caustic metal riffage, as overdoing something with a battle axe demands that sort of background noise. The pledges start out dressed in drag, and god knows what gender bending activities we’re in store for if this is where it begins.
Meanwhile, the main plot thrust gets underway when a nerdy 19-year-old female student (i.e. 32-year-old model wearing glasses) is being stalked while walking home alone in the dark. She gets to her nudie photo shoot in tact, and all she has to do is take off her glasses and unfurl her hair to transform into the pin-up model she most definitely aspires to (on screen and off). The mystery photographer tells her he wants some “pink" (that’s code for beaver). She calls him a sicko, and he retorts with "I'm not the one posing for nude pictures." I guess he has a point, but she could come back with “at least I don’t photograph beavers!”. However, this could just descend into some sort of infinite meta regress, a seesaw of nudie photo character aspersions. It never gets that far though, as some guy in a robe whacks her with a battle axe, while the official Rush Week guitarist screeches out a wicked solo. Toni, our heroine, is a journalism major no doubt down for some Nancy Drew silliness. The movie alternates between these modeling sessions/axe murders, the homocentric Greek rituals, the unfettered partying, and Toni’s pursuit to make sense of it all.
The hazing rituals run a truly bizarre gamut, and are sometimes directed towards BDB’s arch rivals, the “GAE” fraternity (rhymes with “gay” as they frequently point out, which may be ironic considering the ass related festivities these pledges get into). We head to bio class, where they are dissecting a human being (I hope they pay well). However, one of those pesky BDB pledges, wearing nothing but a jock strap and a "scary" monster mask, jumps out of the body bag, scaring the heck out of the professor and no doubt disappointing those who sat in on the class just because they wanted to see some sick shit. BDB pulls the "moon bus" trick, where they all stick their bare asses out of a school bus window and drive it around campus. Our pledges crash the GAE pledge drive, where, in a brilliant stroke of homosexual displacement, switch the initiation film with some cowboy themed gay porn, featuring cowboys with bullseyes painted on their asses.
They also charge people to watch a sex show by peeking through a Hills Have Eyes poster. This entails a paid sex “artist” getting busy with what looks to be a frat boy…oh no, it’s that corpse from the biology class. She runs away in her G-string, and all the guys think it’s just hilarious. I guess they’ve never felt the shame of accidentally fucking a corpse. Next we get the rush week bike race, and our BDB's show up dressed as real bikers, not bicycling assholes in spandex shorts. However, the homoerotic distinction between spandex and leather is rather moot at this point.
The murders are mostly bloodless axings of aspiring models, the most curious one being the girl made to dress as a Native American. I guess there’s a market for photos of white chicks dressed up as slutty Indians (I mean, a market apart from myself). Anyway, in the final showdown, Toni is chased into the animal lab, just as a bunch of tarantulas bust free from captivity (this same gag was used in Chopping Mall, for the record). She hits the killer on the head with a lead pipe, but it turns out that he wasn’t the real killer, but rather, someone that just likes to run around in the dark, wearing a robe and carrying a battle axe, just like the “real” killer of the movie Rush Week. No, the real killer is the dean of the school, as we all know that deans are complete assholes (see Animal House). Toni heroically cuts his head off and, some time later, the new dean shows up and congratulates the two survivors for triumphantly decapitating his predecessor.
Lost in the formula of Rush Week are three surprising cameos. There’s Freddy Krueger (not the real one, but some dude dressed up as Freddy), showcasing the self-reflexive state of the slasher post-1987. There’s also a frat party performance from The Dickies, one of the great punk bands (though apparently not great enough to avoid having to play a frat party in a mediocre slasher). Most unusual of these cameos is “special guest” Greg Allman, who is seemingly involved to add name value. A consumer might pick up the VHS box for Rush Week and see “a special appearance by Greg Allman!” emblazoned on the cover, and think "holy shit! One of the Allman brothers is gonna go toe to toe with some mad zombie slasher!".
Well…no, not really. He shows up to do some meditation with a topless girl, who’s presumably following the teachings of a zen stripper. He also tells Toni to “live long and prosper”, which is what amounts as profound advice when you’ve destroyed your brain with drugs and seen a couple of episodes of Star Trek. I guess Greg is supposed to represent the cool hippie teacher, in touch with “alternative” ways of discovering knowledge. Unfortunately, he is surrounded by meathead jocks and ascot wearing poseurs, who think profundity is merely a cover-up for the material emptiness that comes with not owning a BMW.
Here's an opening clip from the film. The cynical viewer might point out the inherent cliches, but, keep in mind, this shit was released way back in 1981.
Immediately grabbing the bull by the balls, Final Exam begins with a series of Friday the 13th-esqueestablishing shots of a lake, married to sub-Halloween score. Two college kids are making out by said lake, under a silvery moon. The killer tears through the roof (luckily it’s a convertible) and stabs the shit out of the putz with the blonde mullet, and his girlfriend screams her last words, which are “WHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!” Of course, I'm paraphrasing for emotional effect.
It’s the day of a critical college exam, and people are stressing. The nerd hurriedly enters the frame (wearing a pocket protector and carrying 50 pounds of books), alerting the others about the killing, and doing so with gleeful abandon. His joy is cut short when the asshole jock (wearing a “Wildman” jersey) knocks his books down. However, his joy quickly returns when the teacher mentions Charles Whitman. I guess he’s one of those nerds that likes to read about serial killers (when not masturbating to reruns of Lost in Space).
The teacher runs off while everyone takes their tests, supervised by his assistant. He has to take care of some important business, which amounts to running off to the hot blonde on campus for a little sugar time (i.e. what a studmuffin). Curiously, a van full of armed terrorists descend upon the school, using their machine guns to go Columbine on some asses. The two hottest girls are laughing about it, not because they’re heartless bitches, but rather, because they’ve recognized that the van belongs to a frat house, and correctly diagnosed the shooting as a really funny prank. Nowadays, if a frat boy even discussed pulling a prank like that, he would be arrested immediately. Personally, I think if you’re in college, you should be allowed to get drunk once and while and shoot machine gun blanks at large crowds. You’re at that age when you should be allowed to live a little.
The prank doubles as both an initiation and a diversion to get the test cancelled (that’s actually a pretty brilliant stunt for a bunch of frat stooges). The local pork patrol shows up to investigate the shooting, but he's annoyed when he is told it was all a joke. Not because it’s illegal to commit fake machine gun terrorism, mind you, but rather, because he had to haul his fatass down to the campus to investigate, depriving himself of being able to watch re-runs of Starsky and Hutch while inhaling donut holes. Actually, I take that back; I don’t think donut holes were invented yet circa 1981. I apologize.
The hot blonde slut informs the still kinda hot final girl brunette on how to get ahead in life sans studying and working hard. The brunette is conflicted between the two worlds (independent thinking woman and freewheeling hussy), so she visits the nerd to have a heart to heart about this conflict. However, I’m too distracted by the movie posters in his dorm to pay attention to any conversations about life and stuff; Murder is My Beat (an obscure Edgar G. Ulmer homicide/noir, probably inserted as a post-modern confirmation of the nerd’s primary character trait); The Toolbox Murders (an awesome choice, showing he likes horror movies), and Ted V. Mikel’s The Corpse Grinders (showing he appreciates complete and utter garbage). Of course, since there is some frat hazing going on, we are privy to a highly homoerotic sequence where a pledge is stripped to his underwear and tied to a tree, his tightywhities filled with ice cubes; his young body covered in whipped cream. Maybe if these fraternity hose heads just went ahead and succumbed to their man meat desires, they wouldn’t feel the need to occasionally run around with machine guns (or play football).
The pledge manages to escape from his pansy tree-bondage, only to be stabbed in near darkness. This sets off a flurry of murders in the third act, including “Wildman” getting killed by a weight machine in the middle of an empty gym. I know you wanna concoct a fitting comeuppance, but sometimes it’s easier to just stab someone in the face. The nerd finds one of the bodies and calls the donut patrol, only to be rebuffed as a prankster by the useless slab of pork meat at the other end of the line. He tries to save the day on his own, but meets a sadly vague death. My sadness is quickly squelched when the hot blonde shows off her ass, despite being stalked from the recital hall to the art studio. She thinks it’s her boyfriend, and the whole scenario turns her on, but her vagina doth fatally protesteth.
This leads to the final girl running through the entire campus in the dark, before ending up in the belfry of a church tower. Luckily, a bow hunter happens by at this late hour (he’d really rather be bow hunting), but is no match for our plucky killer. The brunette is forced to take matters into her own hands. She grabs the nearest 2x4 and pulverizes the killer until he falls to his doom. Of course, he’s still alive, and she has to finish him off with his own butcher knife, completing the transition from brainy college brunette to savage killer of psychos. Interestingly, we never learn anything about the killer, except that he likes to walk into the frame like Michael Myers. This allows the viewer to come up with their own motive. I’m guessing he was a former pledge forced to do a naked rendition of YMCA while being pelted with eggs. Presented in this light, I guess he had no choice but to start a homicidal rampage.
Final Exam, despite the terrorism bit, is pretty much a college version of House of Death. However, while the authentic feel of the location really captures the college milieu (it was shot at “Isothermal Community College”, which sounds like really really really shitty school of thermodynamics), much of the movie is lifeless and dark, peppered with annoying ass jocktards. At least it stars an authentic nerd, one who actually appears to be much smarter than his fellow students, not just merely another idiot wearing glasses and a pocket protector. It’s too bad he couldn’t shag the brunette before his untimely death. In the end, though I personally found it impressive, I’m not sure having a Toolbox Murders poster over his bed really helped his cause with the ladies.
Their Hazing was a Night to Dismember - words that are printed on the VHS box for Blood Sisters
Hmmm. Although this makes no literal sense, I would hate to think this to be merely a pithy display of wordsmith switcheroo. Digging deeper, we learn that director Roberta Findlay’s closest competitor in the feminine trash movie sweepstakes is Doris Wishman, who may have succeeded with a horror film of her own had it not been partially destroyed in a lab and resultantly cobbled together out of outtakes and unrelated footage, and thereby promptly forgotten (and since resurrected on DVD, and forgotten again). The name of the film? Yes. A Night to Dismember. Pure unbridled coincidence? Me thinks no. The tag line may be a private dig at the movie, in the sense that their hazing shared the less than flattering qualities of said movie; that is, thrown together, nonsensical, psychotic, and occasionally out of focus (read: unfocused). Never has a vaguely catty comment been buried in plain view within such a nonsensical pun on a VHS box. All of this illustrates once again that feminism is (often) a bottom line business. Equality, in this case, is achieved only when women are allowed to out-exploit each other in the game of carving up coeds and/or porn stars.
The story begins with little Jesse D'Angelo who, amongst many other unchronicled achievements I’m sure (getting laid maybe), is a bit player in no less than three heavy metal horror movies (Rock N' Roll Nightmare, Black Roses, and Zombie Nightmare; the loyal punters may have noticed that I have now reviewed every single film Jesse has appeared in, except for something called The Jitters). He’s walking home from school when a little girl unsubtly takes verbal jabs at him, implying (more stating outright, actually) that his mother is a whore. This proves devastating to little Jesse, and he runs home crying to said parent, who indeed lives in a whorehouse, because she, indeed, sells her ass. The thriving family business hits a bump in the road when someone barges in and unloads shotgun spray at any and all hookers within shouting distance.
Thirteen years later, we’re at one of those sorority pledge rituals where a bunch of girls are wearing hooded robes and holding candles, literally spewing a mouthful of Greek salad (well, not literally…that would be gross). Later, at a party, we start to get to know the girls through some lusciously straight forward character development. For example, one of them walks up to the nerd girl in glasses and says "do you have a date tonight? No? Well I've got three!". This quickly segues into a lusciously synthy sex scene that further develops the story (no it doesn’t). The next day, a bunch of frat buddies decide to set up some trick scares in that old spooky whorehouse where a bunch of prostitutes were murdered. This includes fat guy Larry, played by John Fasano, the borderline genius director behind the Jon Mikl-Thor vehicle Rock ‘n Roll Nightmare. Poor Larry is seeing and hearing things that may qualify as "paranormal activity", and is so shaken to his jelly-roll core that he accuses his friend of having “tampon breath”. He then promptly flees for his tubby life, resulting in a Dukes of Hazzard-esque roll across the hood of a car, reminding me of the time I accidentally sideswiped a big fatass swan.
So the girls all get in a van and head out to the scary whorehouse to spend the night as part of their hazing. One of the girls is a cross country runner, and this is readily apparent to the viewer, as she is wearing a reflector vest and is constantly stretching. Another girl remarks that the house is "like a Hitchcock reject" (and I tend to agree with her in the sense that this film is not quite as good as Psycho), and there is also a character named Marnie, providing the fairly common, yet no-less-exciting “dual ham-fisted Hitchcock homage”.
Well, the girls start glimpsing the ghostly apparitions and gags set by the “fratasses” (that’s frat + fatass…P.S. I occasionally make up my own words). The main girl tells a campfire story in front of a fireplace (close enough), proclaiming that "they say the ghosts of the dead prostitutes and their tricks still haunt these hallowed halls". They correctly attribute the ghostly activity as being the handiwork of drunken assholes, but they continue on with their scavenger hunt, despite the various dead hooker legends that are brandied about. They split off and form pairs, searching the dark house with flashlights in hand while some unruly prick repeatedly headbutts a keyboard. One girl is not particularly interested in the scavenger hunt, and instead invites her boyfriend over to scavenge the inside of her pants. Periodically, there is a nice effect where a girl will stop and glance into a mirror, becoming hypnotized and feeling herself up, while a brothel scene from way back when is projected in the mirror. This allows the girls to free themselves of any social conditioning, becoming engulfed in the erotic ways of the world’s oldest profession.
Well, the girls start getting offed in lame, bloodless ways by some stalker wearing a dress. Once they start to figure out that they are being killed (spoiler alert!), they head for the van and try and escape, but of course the piece of shit won’t start, "just like in any good horror film" one girl proclaims. This seems to imply that Blood Sisters is not a good horror film, as no such distinction would otherwise have been necessary. Usually when a van doesn’t start in a horror movie, a character will lament that “this is straight out of a bad horror movie!”. I suppose they’re referring to Blood Sisters. Sometimes, I wish characters would shut up about vehicle issues people are having in other movies and just get the fuck out of dodge.
The girls lock themselves in the van, but (despite the pretense of a higher education) decide to go back in the house because it’s cold outside. The cross country girl decides to put her talents to use and run through the woods to find help, all the while being chased by a dress wearing mad slasher. Luckily, she’s a burner, and manages to get to a road and hail down a station wagon. Meanwhile, her friends are not enjoying much success staying alive. The nerd girl drops her glasses and accidentally steps on them, eschewing the influence of Alfred Hitchcock for the less subtle work of ScoobyDoo. Just like Velma (and pretty much every nerd girl character that made it on to the silver screen in the 80’s), when she loses her glasses, she becomes a raving Hellen Keller, unable to make out so much as the Hindenburg sitting three inches from her nose. The glasses define these characters, and therefore they are powerless without them, and, not to mention, easier to kill.
Well, in the end, the killer turns out to be the final girl's boyfriend from the earlier bump ‘n grind segment. Surely he must have a legitimate reason to off his hot piece of ass girlfriend and her homies, all in the prime of their young lives. The girlfriend, sobbing uncontrollably as her one true love is about to hack her up into coed fillet, asks him how he could plumb such horrific depths. He explains that he’s “just crazy", and then promptly stabs his girlfriend with a Rambo knife. I assume he’s little Jesse all grown up, the trauma of his dead hooker mom having lead to his psychosis…or maybe not. Either way, if you don’t have a solid reason to hack up your girlfriend, at least show a little class and make some shit up.
The pork patrol finally arrives the next morning with the cross country girl, as apparently the house is a seven hour ride from the nearest telephone. Of course, Mr. bacon bureaucracy doesn’t believe her and leaves, and this display of apathy from NYPD's finest drives her totally bonkers. No worries. Her mental faculties may have evaporated, her academic future disintegrated, her friends slaughtered like pigs, but hey, at least she can safely drive away in the van and head back to the warm comforts of a girl’s dormitory. Unfortunately, the crazy boyfriend is still out there roaming the streets and, more to the point, hibernating in the back seat.
With the opening credits of Pledge Night pronouncing that the film "features Joey Belladonna as Young Sidney Snyder", (Joey being the former lead singer of Anthrax), I perk up like a fawn sensing the oncoming of spring. I then say to myself "self, this shit is gonna be good". Then I do the move where I realize that I’m talking to myself and pretend like I’m singing a song instead as to not look like a crazy person. You know what I’m talking about. “Gonna be…good, baby, gooooooooooooood”.
Well, some poor schnook is abducted from the fraternity bathroom (unsurprisingly to the tune of Anthrax) and tied to a tree, but saved by his brave girlfriend. We then see six pledges getting the third degree (if my math is correct). and cruelly being forced to perform push-ups. This is par for the course during hell week, as a parade of naive schmucks are forced to perform various depravities to try and gain membership into a frat house, thereby informing their 7 years of college with masochistic spirit and homoerotic undertones.
One trainee can't handle the pressure, so he stabs one of the frat members, perhaps out of Freudian frustration. He is dragged by the others, bleeding and screaming, to…Tony's Cheesesteaks. The film must take place in Philadelphia, where people are taken out for one last cheesesteak as they are dying…oh wait, the whole thing was faked. I guess they were testing the pledges, seeing whether they would consider ratting out a frat member to the fuzz (which they don’t). Then again, maybe they just don’t give a shit if one of these dime a dozen frat fucks departs our humble planet. I’m voting both ways here folks, although I recognize that the latter reasoning may only function on a subconscious level.
Once loyalty is established, the "cherry race" begins, the object of which is to use your buttcheeks to snag a cherry sitting on a block of ice, and then race over to another block of ice and deposit the cherry, so your "partner" can then repeat the process. The losing team has to then eat the cherries. I guess masturbating to gay porn is considered "old fashioned". If that isn't enough, they have to hang a cob of corn around their neck, which is then tied to their penis, while another “man” pulls on the corn (sort of a tugjob once removed). Maybe I’m old school, but I think gay anal sex would be more “direct” and altogether less fussy.
The frat dudes take a break from the fancy pants shenanigans and head to a titty bar, molesting some girls in front of an American flag backdrop (a la the opening speech in Patton), as if they were trying to recruit the general populace into accepting the premise that they’re not a group of deluded flamers. Real men don’t need to flaunt it in public, and most certainly don’t devise butt-related Olympic events as mandatory rites of passage. Right on cue, the next scene shows the pledges getting their bare asses paddled while reciting "thank you sir…may I have another?", famously featured in National Lampoon’s Animal House (via Kevin "his foot is loose" Bacon). Admittedly, I still can’t figure out if the question is supposed to be rhetorical, sarcastic, or just a direct order to smack someone on the buttocks. As a coup de grace, a Grecian insignia gets branded into their bare, naked asses; their supple, tender posteriors singed with the hard, scorched steel of the...oh, the noodle wanders. I apologize.
The pledges now have to stay in an old abandoned frat house, but a concerned mother mentions to her son that someone died there 20 years earlier “performing” the same type of pledge. The frat boys defend their “traditions”, implying that standards have progressed by pointing to the fact that the pledge group includes a black guy, a Jew, and an Italian guy (I guess we shouldn’t have been surprised to see them walk into a bar together). Regardless, this doesn’t stop the mother from instigating a flashback on everyone. More specifically, sometime in the late sixties, several frat members (looking suspiciously like members of Iron Butterfly) make an acid bath, and poor Joey Belladonna is forced to take a dip. Shockingly, he ends up dead, but at least there’s a silver lining, what with this incident inspiring the eventual Iron Butterfly album "Acid Bath of Sure Fire Deathliness". See, I knew I recognized them.
Well, it’s back to present day, where more phallically charged tests of will flood our corneas. The pledges now have to stuff an egg in their mouth (read: ball washing) while doing push-ups. They are forced to bob for potatoes (i.e. “Bob’s potatoes”) in the toilet, eat worms (which are really just thin, wiggly penises), and munch on cockroaches (“cock” roaches; I rest my case). They are forced to wash it all down with a mysterious "fraternity cocktail", which no doubt metaphorically entails fraternizing with cocks. Few movies have ever been so committed to cinematically exploring the mysteries of phallic symbolism. If Sigmund Freud was a diehard Anthrax fan, he would LOVE this movie.
Later, one of the frat members is sitting on the toilet while reading a copy of “Juggs” (which is not a magazine dedicated to water receptacles). A hand reaches up from the toilet, rubbing up against his testicles before killing him in unseen fashion. This hand belongs to Dan the pledge, and he begins a murder spree while performing some giggly insanity routine (complemented with some unibrow shading). One of the girls helping with hell week is taking a bath, and Dan cackles his way into the bathroom. He plugs in a radio (set, as it usually is, to the 24 hour Anthrax station) and drops it in the tub, short circuiting her ample headlights (or, if you prefer, sending them to the great juggyard in the sky). He then ties up the hot girl in the kitchen and plants an electric egg beater into her skull (I guess he scrambled her brains…hee hee). Dan then ties up a frat dude and explains to him that he is actually the spirit of the acid bathed Belladonna, and, to prove it, he rips open his own body, revealing a charred, sub-Freddy presence: Sid, the hippie zombie. He celebrates this miracle of reincarnation by lighting a cherry bomb and sticking it up a frat guy's ass. Considering the “cherry race” pledge from earlier, I guess this qualifies as sweet irony, in a toilet humor sort of way.
Sid then pops out of a homemade coffin and asks what any respectable undead hippie might ask: "which way to the protest?". A pledge jumps into action, yelling "yo zombie!", and stabbing him with a nearby sword. His large intestine falls out, but Sid is rather nonplussed about it at first, totally stoked at a second glance. He now has something to choke the token black dude with. The victims try to escape through the front door, but Sid just happens to be standing there (fucking teleporting hippies). The door slams shut and, for some reason, he plants about ten knives into the door. One of the pledges rings up the pork trough, explaining to the fat boys in blue that some zombie dude is strangling innocent bystanders with his own intestines. Of course, the bureaucratic swine ignores his pleas, chalking it up as a frat boy crank yank.
The pledge, no doubt disillusioned with the system, starts hearing the voice of one of the dead girls and follows it, but, alas, it’s only Sid doing his voice copying act. Despite having an axe in his chest, he chokes the pledge to death. Now, you’re probably annoyed at this point that they keeping introducing new powers for Sid from out of left field. Other than a quick flashback, there really isn’t enough running time to have a whole super-hero origin story. However, all of his various super powers and what have you are clearly explained in the liner notes of the Iron Butterfly record. It’s one of those concept album deals.
Sid hides out in the room of the dude that owns the sword (understandably replete with Conan posters), luring one of the other pledges before forcibly assisting him into a bad Linda Blair impression, turning his head 180 degrees. The dude with the sword shows up to save the day and slices Sid open, but this only leaves a hole in his abdomen. While most would see this as a setback, enterprising bogeyman Sid views it instead as an opportunity, sticking the pledge’s head into his gaping wound, thereby melting his noggin. Townie pledge Larry now has the unenviable task of competing with Sid in a sword fight, but, alas, only being armed with a baseball bat. Thankfully, the girl that’s still alive is a bit of a brainiac, noting that acidic flesh is susceptible to pressurized stuff and whatever, so she grabs a fire extinguisher and royally sprays him with whatever that fire extinguisher stuff is. Adding extra phallic gravitas, Larry shoves the sword down Sid's throat. A couple of other “twists” round out this epic adventure of cock-fueled foolishness.
While most of the one liners Sid spits out during the movie are admittedly forced-in, hippie related stupidity, one line in particular sticks out: right after killing someone, he zings "that's for Spiro Agnew!”.
Seriously.
Not making this shit up.
I guess in Sid’s crispy mind, the tyranny and power of the fraternity mirrors the U.S. government, what with Nixon and his lap dog Spiro bending and breaking laws in order to maintain their grip on those not fortunate enough to be born into the privileged life of a professional bullshitter. These hippies apparently have had enough of the bullying from the Alex Keaton types, and, more to the point, are tired of having deeply repressed homosexuality shoved down their throats in ritualized fashion. Of course, none of this applies to any gay hippies hoping to join a fraternity, as they would undoubtedly be chuffed to bits to partake in such a bountiful barrage of meaty man games.
here's a trailer, sprinkled with nudity, from a golden age of cinema when tits were all part of the fun
It’s a dark and stormy night, and the camera pans across a truly righteous doll collection. Young Daphne Zuniga walks towards a roaring fireplace and sees Vera Miles (her mommy) getting funky with Clu Gulager (not her daddy, and awesome in Return of the Living Dead). A dude in a suit runs in and struggles with Clu, who pours lighter fluid on the poor bastard and pushes him into the fireplace. Forced to view all of this, little Daphne’s young psyche is no doubt in dire straits (or maybe Knoplflered into oblivion).
Fast forward to modern day, and grown up Daphne wakes up in the middle of a sorority pledge, where a group of chicks wearing nighties are holding candles and chanting some greek salad nonsense. God damn, college is awesome. Daphne later mentions about a recurring “dream” she keeps having where Clu Gulager sets some poor bastard on fire (sure it is). Meanwhile, a nurse at the local nutter farm gets off work and heads for her car, only to get stabbed through the back seat by some psycho gardener with a fork hoe (not to be confused with a spork prostitute). I’m assuming that he’s a psychotic gardener that escaped from the looney bin, but he might just be the regular gardener for the hospital who decided to start killing people one night. Then again, maybe it’s an institutionalized fruitcake whose sole life ambition was to escape the hospital and go on a gardening themed rampage (the press could dub him “the green thumb killer” or something), even though they, in fact, possess no gardening skills whatsoever. Boy these psychiatrists must have their fucking hands full figuring this shit out.
Relaxing at home, Vera and Clu get a phone call from the nut house about something or other (possibly one of those important plot point deals). Daphne mentions that she’s doing her thesis on “dreams and nightmares”, and this means she gets to study with the hunky teacher (Mr. Adams) who’s doing a doctoral thesis on dreams (yes, he is dreamy). She mentions to him that she lost her memory after some childhood trauma, and later has a bloody vision of her childhood self in the bathroom mirror. I guess this trauma isn’t content to contain itself within her mind. Well, Mr. Adams performs some tests on Daphne, trying to interpret her horrific dream starring Vera Miles. Daphne’s parents maintain an illusion of normalcy, not mentioning to her that (presumably) there’s a psycho escapee running around, and wanting her to promise not to hang out with the dream doctor, or do any such tests (lest she finds out the truth). Right on cue, Clu gets stabbed in the neck outside of his house, and then quickly gets decapitated with a machete. Vera, unaware of the gimmicky slaughter occurring outside, proclaims that “sometimes I think that man would forget his head if it wasn’t attached.” Ha ha. Accidental puns are even funnier than the real thing…or not.
Lest we get too psychological or what have you, we cut to the sorority pledges taking their showers, and the token slut shows off the total package (complete with bush, and I don’t mean the president). Even Daphne, with her career in early dire straits, doesn’t mind contributing to the gratuitous nudity fund (alert Melrose Place groupies). This sort of thing tends to attract the male gaze, but thankfully, it’s not the killer, but rather some dude with the hots for daphne wearing some sort of poseur S & M outfit. I say you should either go full leather or go home. Of course, there’s also a party scene, where people are grooving in their costumes to the latest and freshest in generic synth rock. Daphne’s friend, apparently dressed as a red haired punk rocker, heads to the party with a guy named “boner” (appropriately dressed as a giant penis, and not to be confused with the dude from Growing Pains). Daphne also looks pretty hot dressed as a goth hooker of sorts (complete with studded dog collar). You know, her and that fake S & M dude would seem to be the perfect couple at first glance, but what the hell do I know about relationships.
R.I.P. Andrew Koenig, of Growing Pains and Never Not Funny and maybe some other stuff
For the finale, the girls have to spend the night in a department store as part of their sorority pledge. The head sorority biatch teams up with three frat dudes in an effort to scare the girls. The hottie doesn’t seem overly afraid, even showing her tits before trying on some slutty roller skate outfit. Unfortunately, she ends up getting viciously stabbed (alas, no more nude scenes), and “boner” finally tries to get down with the nerd girl, who’s still a virgin, but gets shot with an arrow (maybe I could procure that penis costume now that he no longer needs it). Daphne and the nerd try to escape from a freight elevator, but the killer grabs the nerd girl by her feet and drags her back in, slamming the door shut. We are left to imagine her demise, possibly interjecting some rape into the equation (or maybe he just tickles her and lets her go…who knows).
I won’t give away the super duper twist ending, except to say that the film manages to try and present an actual mystery with, like, clues and shit. Although not great by any stretch, this central plot with Daphne’s dream and what not separates The Initiation from other slashers of the era. It’s rare when one of these movies presents its own subconscious metaphors, rather than having them shoehorned in by over-intellectualizing hoseheads.
P.S. This was written as part of the Final Girl Film Club over at the Final Girl blog, albeit 21 months ago. I like to be early to club meetings so I get first dibs on snacks Anyway, please read her review of The Initiation.
Here's the opening of the film, although you can watch the whole thing currently on Netflix instant watch in the U.S.. Canadians might be S.O.L. on this one. I hope not eh.
Sarah is painfully shy, but thankfully she has a hot sister (Patty) that takes pity on her (pity tinged with love). Normally, Sarah would spend her summers at home, but Patty invites her to the beach. However, a local studmuffin swimmer happens upon them and offers to teach Patty a special swimming maneuver (no doubt a variant of the breaststroke), ditching Sarah in the process, and showing what happens when you try to hang out with your hot sister at the beach. Anyway, as a faceless male who isn’t wearing a shirt, he immediately tries to rape Patty (made for TV rape, but still), all in full view of invisible wallflower Sarah. Thankfully, this supposed wallflower manages to summon up some telekinetic powers, causing the dude to fall over. While not quite as exciting as a karate chop to the balls, it successfully puts the kibosh on the sister rape, and that’s what’s important.
Well, we flash forward to the fall, where the sisters leave home to begin college together, as a team. The wily reader may find it curious that these sisters are both in the same year of schooling. Maybe their mother plopped them both out within a 17 month span, refusing to give her vagina a well deserved break in the interim. Unfortunately, Patty was forcibly squeezed out too soon, leaving her with a less developed brain, causing her to be held back a grade in school. Oh wait, Sarah was adopted. That totally makes sense. After all, the sisters could not be more different from each other, unless one of them was Asian or something. I’m glad rich whitebread parents adopt disadvantaged children from third world countries, if for no better reason than you can quickly discern which kids are adopted. Anyway, the villain is quickly established when they drive by one of the head sorority bitches who stands around and judges them. She’s played by Morgan Fairchild and wears a sweater tied around her neck, which, in this case, is all the character development you really need.
The sisters scope out the local sorority houses, hoping to pledge themselves into a Greek institution (that sounds vaguely dirty, but I am unable to connect the dots here). I don’t know about you, but I have a feeling that socially awkward angst + telekinesis + pledge hazing = trouble (if my math is on point). Well, they happen into Morgan’s sorority, and a portly pledge quickly explains that this particular sisterhood only cares about money and looks, while academics are completely ignored (along with substance and basic morality, it would seem). In a sad twist of fate (via a cunt-ruled hierarchy), Morgan wants Patty to pledge but refuses to even consider Sarah, driving a potentially catastrophic wedge between the two sisters, potentially breaking up the team, as it were (not to mention possibly taking away Sarah’s only friend in the world).
Taking a break from all the human drama, the sisters happen upon a very angry dog. Sarah again uses her powers to telekinetically communicate with the dog to leave them the fuck alone, maybe convincing it that there's a squirrel convention going on nearby. Their sorority house tour takes them to the PED house (not “performance enhancing drugs”; just some Greek numbers) where the girls actually do homework and stuff, instead of just sitting around all day feathering their hair (Morgan Fairchild in the seventies, natch). Sarah seems to actually enjoy the company of these “weirdos” (to the extent that she can enjoy company), but her high falluting sister is less than impressed. While they are pretty much polar opposites, potentially being driven away from each other into competing cliques, Patty does look out for her sister, even attempting to fix her hair and make her look all pretty like. However, during a phone conversation, their rich bitch mother tells Patty to go ahead and ditch Sarah and join the rich bitch sorority. She explains that she pities Sarah, but her mom tells her to grow a pair and not be swayed by such trivial emotion. After all, Sarah's not really a sister and a daughter, but an object of pity who is lucky someone even bothered to give her a place to live. Unfortunately, Sarah overhears the conversation, getting psychically riled up again. She stares angrily into a mirror until it cracks, leaving only her own fractured portrait. While not as explosively exciting as maybe watching her shoot lasers out of her eyes and blowing shit up, it all seems rather fitting under the circumstances.
Of course, Patty gets into Morgan’s sorority, and Sarah into the PED house. As part of her pledging, Patty is cruelly forced to proclaim in front of her sister that she will no longer associate with PEDs, “pigs elephants and dogs” (so THAT’S what it stands for; I probably shouldn’t have assumed it was Greek). This sets off Sarah yet again (as it would anyone), and her anger causes a piano to nearly miss crushing her sister. As it happens, a group of guys were lifting the piano just as Patty was walking underneath. I don’t know why assholes are always trying to lift pianos five stories with a couple of bungee cords. You can’t carry the fucking thing up a flight of stairs? At least it’s not as bad as when two guys carry a big pane of glass across the street during a chase scene. You know, a cop is in hot pursuit of a criminal in a motorcycle chase when, suddenly, two schmucks carry a piece of glass across the street, oblivious to the sound of roaring engines. The biker criminal narrowly escapes smashing through the glass, but the cop is not so lucky, crashing through and flying 120 feet in the air as crime wins again. My point is, why the fuck do people need glass transported by hand instead of by truck? Does an office building get a new window put in, and they pay some movers to carry the old window to a trash dump across the street? Even if they actually have some asinine reason to do so, how about you use the fucking crosswalk? Boy, I’ll rant about anything. Either way, this is the most batshit insane movie/T.V. cliche ever devised. To think someone would even have the balls to try it once boggles the mind.
Well, the house mother of PED is played by Shelly Winters, which is a bit of an omen, I guess (or maybe totally fitting). PED sister Tisa Farrow gives Sarah a tour of this creepy sorority house straight out of a horror movie (well, this is sort of a horror movie, I guess), while Morgan tours Patty through a brightly lit sorority house palace of sorts. To further accentuate the difference between the two sororities, Morgan Fairchild is very Morgan Fairchild-esque, while Tisa is highly skittish and neurotic, whose sole pastime is playing the violin in a sad and empty room. She even mentions that she got “sent away” a couple of times. I guess she’s a bit depressed about being the lesser Farrow, and by lesser, I mean she never got to schnook Woody Allen. Well, I hope not. You know, I wouldn’t put it past him actually. I need to stop dwelling on this point lest visuals begin to pop into my already diseased noggin.
Well, Sarah actually does attend a class at some point (they make you do this in college for some reason, even if you’re totally hungover). She is asked to write a paper on the “duality of personality” by her studly teacher, potentially inspiring Sarah to explore her secret ability (amongst other potential inspirations). The next scene is practically drawing room comedy. Morgan invites Patty for coffee, dragging her away from her sister, and Tisa asks Sarah if she too wants to go for coffee, and she frustratingly says “the whole world’s drinking coffee! No thanks!” The teacher then pops in and asks her, again, if she wants to dig on some java, and she happily agrees. However, she senses him getting close to her and bails, scared of any potential human connection. Then again, maybe she just really hates coffee. I guess she’s like the opposite of Too Much Coffee Man, that is, "Absolutely No Coffee Under Any Circumstances Woman". Anyway, she does eventually sit down with the teacher and, for the first time, discusses her “power” with someone (first time in the film anyway). This bodes well for Sarah, as she appears to be ashamed of her powers (on top of just regular shame), and she has apparently found someone who can understand her both analytically and as a scared little girl who remains an outcast incapable of connecting with people. Also, he’s, like, bodaciously hot and stuff.
Morgan cruelly makes fun of Tisa and her violin (which is sort of like insulting Tori Amos’ piano), and Sarah knocks her into a nearby fountain with her mind. She then stands up for Tisa, and concurrently herself, laying a speech on Morgan about how she is ugly on the inside and doesn’t care about other people’s feelings. It seems that wallflower Sarah has finally stood up for herself in more direct, human fashion, instead of relying on an ability that is mysterious to others (and even herself really). Her speech seems to actually inspire Morgan to rethink her cunty ways, and she tells Patty that she may just pledge Sarah after all. This sets up the prolonged finale, both wacky and tragic, where Sarah’s previously subtle and believable powers (to the extent that telekinesis is believable) amp up to something else entirely. There’s a possible satanis ex machina (that’s like the hand of god intervening during an ending, but with Satan instead), along with a cameo by the hedge maze from The Shining. It’s called a fucking climax folks.
Of course, the whole thing is a big ass Carrie ripoff, but a highly worthwhile one. Brian DePalma’s film works as an operatic gothic laced with religious satire, while The Initiation of Sarah turns it’s eye squarely on Sarah’s basic human plight, a teenaged outsider unable to fit in, too stricken with shame and esteem issues to develop meaningful relationships. It’s the sort of quaint human story you find in a lot of 70’s made-for-TV movies (and even after school specials), dressed up as a thriller of sorts. Gimmicky touches and psychic powers aside, it works wonderfully well as an emotionally honest portrait of a character many of us can relate to (assuming you’re not a stuck up bitch/douchebag/young Republican). A lot of the credit squarely goes to Kay Lenz in the titular role, a woefully underrated actress. Check out Clint Eastwood’s Breezy for further evidence. It’s one of those May-December romance deals (as opposed to a January-February romance, which is a toddler boinking a newborn), co-starring William Holden. If you doubt her prowess, let me just point out that she played the ugly dork sister despite being super hottie Kay Lenz, and I bought her character every millisecond she was on screen. In Hollywood, they would normally just take some hot actress, wrap her hair up, put glasses on her and call it a day. After all, when a “typical” Hollywood audience is enjoying a piece of entertainment about people who are ugly/fat/emotionally tortured or otherwise “socially defective”, they don’t want to have to identify with people who are unattractive and/or lacking in confidence. No, the audience needs something to fix their eyes on as popcorn is collectively shoveled into a sea of faceless heads.
P.S. This was written as part of Stacie Ponder's Final Girl Film Club. Check out her review here.
P.P.S. This is the first in a series of reviews for sorority/fraternity pledge horror films. I will explain this better soon, and maybe come up with a catchy/not ungainly name for it as well.
Here's the rad (although misleading) poster, reminding me of Night of the Creeps, or maybe one of the other zombie prom movies.
Sadly, we open the film at a funeral, forced to confront the horrors of human mortality. The priest does it in his own way, quoting The Wizard of Oz(some shit about the size of your heart). He then tells everyone that the service is over, saying "try to have a nice day". An old man mutters "imbecile!” in response, as if insulted that the priest would attempt to rectify the death of a loved one with such a vague and lifeless pleasantry. A girls runs back in to yell at the corpse after everyone has left the church, and, curiously, gets dragged into the coffin. The coroner sticks the coffin in the oven while listening to his walkman, completely oblivious to the fact that a living being is fucking screaming.
Well, the camera pulls back, and the scene we were watching is a movie playing at a drive-in. Hot valley girl April is being pawed by some guy in his car, so she decides to go get some popcorn to keep from getting date raped. No one is working the concession counter, so she steals some popcorn and heads back to the car, noticing that her date, along with everyone else, is a zombie. What an awesome promotional gimmick. The movie within a movie suddenly turns into a metal ripoff of the "Thriller" video, where April runs through the foggy drive-in being chased by zombies. The featured group is White Sister (a real band, and sort of an aerobic, balding Dokken), playing their power rocker "You're No Fool".
Once again, we pull back, and a girl is watching the video on TV. Christ on a stick. Killer Party is the rare piece of horror trash that feels the need to obliterate the fourth wall within the first five minutes. Normally, this would set up the viewer to be on their heels, that the rug of reality can be pulled from underneath their feet at any moment. However, the rest of the movie is mostly a straight forward horror enterprise (with a bit of the "April fool's joke" motif). I guess the opening acts as some sort of palate cleanser, shifting the audience’s focus away from the narrative and onto the raw details. Either way, it’s anything but a typical way to kick off a horror movie, and totally preferable to some boring ass intro loaded with exposition.
Well, back to the narrative, where several sorority pledge sisters ride their bikes to class, while the insanely catchy synth pop theme plays ("these are the best times of our lives…these are the best times"). The current sorority sisters are chilling in the house sauna, and some champagne is being delivered, keeping this party going. Lo and behold, the delivery is a frat boy prank, and they invade the sauna with an army of bees, and videotape the girls as they are forced to flee for fear of being stung. The girls struggle to keep their supple sorority parts covered with towels, but resolutely fail amidst the chaos.
The sorority house mother gets an oar to the face by a mysterious killer, and our three heroines have to deal with the unfortunately still alive pledge mistress. She calls them "slimebuckets", and tells them that they have to say the phrase "I myself prefer a big fat cucumber" if asked a question at any point during the day. Lo and behold, the girls are in a literature class taught by professor Paul Bartel (of Chopping Mall), who conveniently asks Jennifer "have you ever curled up in bed with a big book?". She is forced to offer up her phallically charged proclamation, and Bartel blames this act of foul mouthed subversion on the fact that she wears a single white sock and a single red sock (These punk rockers today). Bartel should be vaguely turned on by such an exchange, but he must be one of those pretentious tightwads, since the phrase "prevailing bourgeois influence" is written on the chalk board. Therefore, any cucumber metaphors are too low brow to land on his radar. Well, he asks Jennifer to leave, and the other two follow. This irks Bartel to the point of rhetorically asking if everyone wants to leave, to which they do, as they have yet to learn what rhetorical means. All except the nerd, who wants to know about the sexual subtext of Madame Bovary (answer: she needs a cucumber to spice up her boring life).
Later, we get one of those fabulous pledge ceremonies with a bunch of sorority girls wearing robes (surrounded by 73, 000 candles). The pledges are forced to swallow goat eyes while the others taunt them with "baaaaa". A candle shoots sparks to scare them, they have to hold raw yolk in their mouths, and Jen gets her ass paddled. A noise is heard coming from the basement, and pledge Viv investigates, accidentally getting decapitated in a guillotine (I hate when that happens). Well, it turns out nerdy Viv used her ingenuity to pull a prank, using a fake rubber head to horrify the bitchy sorority sisters. That’s way cooler than some stupid sparkling candle.
Paul Bartel shows up again, presenting a "dangers of hazing" educational film. Hopefully these drunk idiots pay attention and take notes, and we can finally stop this tradition…oh wait, someone switches the film with the naked girl sauna footage from earlier. He he…that’s pretty funny. Well, more importantly, the girls are setting up an April fool’s day party at a creepy house, and this spurs my imagination. Namely, I find it curious that three of these slasher type movies that take place during April fool’s day were released within a year of each other (this one, Slaughter High, and...oh yeah,April Fool's Day). Bartel shows up of course, worried about the plummeting morals of these young women, but gets electrocuted by the guillotine in the basement (I really hate it when that happens).
Well, the April fool's costume party gets under way. Phoebe shows up as some sort of ragged ballerina (possibly a stripper that moonlights as a ballerina), Jen is a playboy mansion waitress (they won’t give you a lap dance BTW; don’t bother asking), and Viv is a jester, as the smart ones tend not to dress up as sluts during the holidays. With all the victims in place, a slasher ghost goes to work, possessing costumed party goers. This final sequence is the titular party the film has been building to the whole time. Really, much of the film up to the party scene is an amusing 80’s trash look at college life, featuring three perky ladies that maintain interest (they're cute, stylish, smart, and spunky, in no discernible order). The end credits thank "Hollywood Jeans of Montreal", and I am reminded that this Canadian production does come through with some of that canuckle quirk we know and love, gentler yet more surreal than its American counterpart.
