Heathers (Michael Lehmann, 1989)

It was about time I revisited the perturbed hilarity of Heathers; a deliciously warped movie that comforts me whenever I'm feeling a tad unbalanced or depleted in the red scrunchy department. You see, I hadn't seen it in at least five years (my overplayed VHS copy just up and died on me). So, as you would expect, the prospect of bathing in its unsavoury light once again had me all aflutter and wistfully woolgathering about blue leggings, shower-nozzle masturbation material, lunchtime polls, cow-tipping, strip croquet ("Sure beats boning on the neighbour's swing"), the perfect hangover cure, and, of course, the breeziness of teen suicide. This film, directed by Michael Lehmann and written by Daniel Waters, is a movie that I used to watch at least once a week back in 1992-93, and it remains to be not only one of the darkest comedies of all-time, but one of the best movies period. Which was a relief, because I was deathly afraid that the film's ability to shock and delight might have softened over the years. But thankfully the film continues to brilliantly skirt that fine line between utter tastelessness and biting satire. Originally, I watched the film because of my healthy obsession with Winona Ryder, but gazing longingly into the diminutive actresses' big brown eyes soon became secondary, as I found myself transfixed by the film's harsh depiction of everyday life at a nondescript high school. The random acts of cruelty and the impenetrable nature of the various social hierarchies all rang true.

"The only place different social types can genuinely get along with each other is in heaven." ~ J.D.

Displaying wonderful chemistry with one another, Christian Slater and Winona Ryder play a murdering high school duo who turn faking suicides into an art form. Now, their quirky relationship germinates in the cafeteria, but it really blossoms at the Snappy Snack Shack, where the two engage in some of the finest onscreen flirting I've ever seen; a lot of innuendos involving Cherry Slushies, Turbo-Dogs and Corn Nuts. Which culminates with one of my favourite lines: "I don't really like my friends." Something I'm sure we've all thought at one time or another.

Having not seen the film in so long has granted me the honour of seeing it from a semi-fresh perspective. In addition, I got to utilize my newly acquired penchant for all-things sleazy and salacious. I mean, I was surprised by how much I embraced Heather Chandler this time around. Her domineering brand of bitchery was probably off-putting ten years ago, but now I find her to be strangely alluring. In case anyone doesn't know, she's the leader of the most powerful clique at Westerburg High and is played with a tyrannical zestfulness by Kim Walker. The alpha Heather (a.k.a. The Red Heather) is the character who launches the film into a cattish wonderland, full of mean spiritedness and hideous blazers. She also spews some of the film's most memorable lines...

Top 10 Heather Chandler Lines

1. "Well, fuck me gently with a chainsaw. Do I look like Mother Theresa?"
2. "Come on. It will be very. The note will give her shower-nozzle masturbation material for weeks."
3. "They all want me as a friend or a fuck. I'm worshiped at Westerburg and I'm only a junior."
4. "You were nothing before you met me. You were playing Barbies with Betty Finn. You were a Bluebird. You were a Brownie. You were a Girl Scout Cookie."
5. "Is this turnout weak or what? I had at least 70 more people at my funeral."
6. "You stupid fuck... I brought you to a Remington party and what's my thanks? It's on a hallway carpet. I got paid in puke."
7. "Grow up, Heather, bulimia's so '87."
8. "You blow it tonight, girl, and it's keggers with kids all next year."
9. "You wanted to be a member of the most powerful clique in school. If I wasn't already the head of it, I'd want the same thing."
10. "Corn Nuts!"

Other Random Heather Thoughts:

I love it when Shannen Doherty (Heather Duke, a role she was born to play) asks Veronica: "Why are you pulling my dick"? Women who refer to having penises are tops in my book. There's just something inherently sexy about a dame with an imaginary cock.

The mundane patter Veronica Sawyer takes part in with her parents (William Cort and Jennifer Rhodes) out on the patio never fails to amuse me. Mr. Sawyer: "Goddamn, will somebody please tell me why I read these spy novels?" Veronica: "Because you're an idiot." Mr. Sawyer: "Oh, yeah, that's it." Mrs. Sawyer: "You two..."

The statuesque Lisanne Falk (Heather McNamara) has the gams of a professional knee-pad model. I can't believe I didn't notice them the other 150 times I watched this flick. Check 'em out when she's talking to Winona in the parking lot just after the film's first funeral. Oh, and the look on Renée Estevez' face as she sulks away after Heather Duke and Heather McNamara interrupt the croquet match she was having with Veronica always makes me sad.

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Pump Up the Volume (Allan Moyle, 1990)

I'm sure I'm not alone when I say this, but I really wanted to launch my own radio station after I saw Pump Up the Volume, a shimmering glob of underrated awesomeness, one that fought for your undivided attention twenty years ago, but got lost in the overcrowded realm that was teen angst cinema. Of course, nowadays, the idea of broadcasting a pirate radio show from the moldy, jizz-stained confines of your parents' basement might seem a tad quaint–especially in a world dominated by social media and reality television–but in 1990, it was groundbreaking stuff. Seriously, a disaffected teen as the catalyst for change wasn't that far-fetched during a time when apathy and yuppie culture had infected the general populace. Spouting a crude yet compelling melange of saucy malapropisms on the radio, complimented by an eclectic array of rap, punk, pop, and Leonard Cohen, a properly motivated adolescent in a bowling shirt could inspire the alienated and the downtrodden hovering around their speakers to do his or her bidding, and do so with an alarming ease. It didn't matter if person doing the talking originally intended to shake things up, your voice was singled out as the champion for those being "butt-surfed by the system" whether you like it or not. My pirate radio station, for example, would have been an ear-destroying cacophony of post-industrial sex music and italo disco (with weather and fashion updates on the hour). In other words, while my station's chic temperament would never be in doubt, its seemingly innocuous content wouldn't cause the shady bureaucrats who the run local high school to loose any sleep. The radio station featured in this film, on the other hand, oozes of subversion from every pore.

Welcome to Paradise Hills, Arizona, a sleepy suburb that will think twice the next time it decides to underestimate the power of an aniseed flavoured chewing gum enthusiast wearing nothing but a cock ring. Capturing the spirit of aimless youth in a manner unseen in the bulk of movies about teenagers, writer-director Allan Moyle (Times Square) has created an unusual world where one teen talks and the rest listen. Typical teen archetypes like, the jock, the geek, the popular girl, the freaky chick in striped tights, and, of course, the burnouts (Seth Green and Andy Romano), are all rendered mute, as they all become enamoured with a single voice. The stresses that come with attending Hubert Humphrey High are too much for Mark Hunter (Christian Slater), a newly transferred student from "back east." Started in his parents' basement as a lark (it seems he originally wanted to get the attention of the popular girl archetype), Mark responds to this stress by performing nightly rants on the radio.

Over time, his rants, which are mainly directed toward his school's corrupt administration and usually married with the alternative music of the day and juvenile humour, grow in popularity. Every night at around 10 P.M., Mark, who uses the on air handle: Hard Harry, plops the needle down on Leonard Cohen's "Everybody Knows" (the official theme song of his late night program) and proceeds to enlighten and amuse his dedicated audience.

The audience is encouraged to participate in the Hard Harry experience, and do so usually by sending letters to his P.O. Box. His favourite correspondence is with a listener he dubs the "Eat Me Beat Me Lady," who is, in reality, a Hubert Humphrey High student named Nora DeNiro (Samantha Mathis). Sending him erotic poetry on a semi-regular basis, which is written on the same red paper and written in the same black handwriting, Nora and Harry seem to have a weird chemistry with one another, despite the fact that they've never met.

Determined to uncover the phantom DJ's true identity, Nora keeps a record of all clues she picks up while listening to Hard Harry's show. The clues "likes to read alone" and "Black Jack gum" cause Nora to zero in on Mark, as those are a couple things that Hard Harry has stated that he likes to do while at school. Of course, Mark and Hard Harry, who are technically the same person, behave totally different while immersed in their own environment, so making the connection between the two people won't be easy.

The death of a student, whose suicide is blamed on Hard Harry (he'd kill himself, but he's "too depressed to bother"), puts a damper Mark and Nora's inevitable meeting, as increased scrutiny is placed on the subversive radio show. The media accuses Harry of exploiting his teenage audience, while principal Creswood (Annie Ross, Basket Case 2), the fascistic ruler of Hubert Humphrey High, wants to crush Harry for daring to expose her administration's wrongdoings. What will Mark/Harry do? Will he lay low until and hope that all this will eventually blows over, or will he strike back at the forces that are lined up against him with the only weapon in his arsenal? Only time will tell. Personally, I'm hoping he chooses the latter, because I'd really like to see Harry's minions/listeners rise up in the cafeteria and stab their adversaries with their plastic forks.

Motivating students and teachers alike, Harry inspires Paige Woodward (Cheryl Pollak, My Best Friend Is a Vampire) a frustrated popular girl to destroy her belongings and causes English teacher, Jan Emerson (the beautiful Ellen Greene), to stand up for what's right. I'll admit, I was mildly perturbed by the fact that Mark seemed to be attracted to Paige and not Nora at first. However, Mark does ultimately make the right decision and starts to focus his romantic gaze in Nora's general direction. Did he really think that Paige was Eat Me Beat Me Lady? Only someone as alluring as Nora, with her elongated neck and artistic temperament, could possibly be responsible for writing like that.

Don't judge me too harshly, but I tend to flip-flop between Pump Up the Volume and Heathers quite regularly as to what I consider the best Christian Slater performance of all-time. But right this minute, I'm leaning toward this particular one. Mainly because Mark Hunter, shy teen by day, horny disc jockey by night, is such a juicy role. Plus, I tend to relate more to Mark/Harry's personality crisis. When he's pontificating as his more forthright alter ego, Hard Harry, a cock-ring wearing, masturbation enthusiast with a penchant for Wild Cherry Diet Pepsi and Black Jack gum, you could tell Christian was having a blast being the reluctant spokesmen for the Why Bother? Generation.

I don't know why I'm mentioning this, but the manner in which Mark Hunter carried his knapsack was exactly the same as one of my friends back in high school.

The girl who helps bring Mark Hunter out his shell, and assists him when he needs an extra pair of hands to help bring his revolutionary message to the pimple-covered masses is a sensuous angel in stripped tights; a dirty-minded hellion with a sinful penmanship; a loquacious hellcat who likes it rough; a raven-haired goddess in a...uh, you get the idea. At the time this film came out, I thought Winona Ryder was the only quirky brunette I ever needed. But that myth was shattered forever when I saw Samantha Mathis' bob-haired silhouette all over media during the week of the film's release. Stalking the HHH campus in search of the elusive DJ, Samantha, her black and white striped tights calming the nerves of every pervert within a five mile radius, looked like a Goth supermodel. Merely saying that I adore Samantha Mathis' performance in Pump Up the Volume doesn't seem to cut it. You see, my adoration for her sultry turn as Nora DeNiro, a.k.a. the "Eat Me Beat Me Lady," soars beyond the stratosphere in terms of unrequited infatuation.

The swirly smooch between Eric Stoltz and Mary Stuart Masterson in Some Kind of Wonderful is, in my opinion, the best onscreen kiss in movie history. Well, that intimate moment between Christian Slater and Samantha Mathis has to be the best non-kiss in movie history. Their gaping mouths linger, as if they were about to inhale one another whole, but their lips don't actually touch. It's an extremely provocative scene, full of adolescent desire and sexual frustration. Oh, and the fact that both actors are topless in the scene probably helped in the sizzle department. This sense of longing is continued the very next day when Mark and Nora meet up on the HHH campus and proceed to go through the same mouth lingering machinations.

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention Lala Sloatman, who plays Nora's bespectacled gal pal, Janie. I loved the vintage clothing she sports throughout the film; lot's of greens and pinks with an emphasis on layers and novelty leggings (one pair is covered with peace symbols). She's kinda like a cross between a hip librarian and a New Wave bag lady. In other words, very sexy. Oh, and keen observers will notice that Lala subtly gives the principal "the finger" in one scene (she pretends to scratch her eye with her, you guessed it, middle finger). Quirky fun-fact: Lala's uncle is Frank Zappa, and her boyfriend in the movie is played by Ahmet Zappa.

The film's soundtrack is virtual who's who of late '80s alt rock, hip hop, and punk. My faves being: "Titanium Expose" by Sonic Youth, the Peter Murphy oddity "I've Got a Secret Miniature Camera," the Pixies' "Wave of Mutilation (U.K. Surf)," and "Love Comes in Spurts" by Richard Hell.

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Savage Streets (Danny Steinmann, 1984)

In the gritty realm of this unbelievably gritty film, thoughts of revenge may sprout while you're immersed in a tub of a warm water, but when that vengeance pierces the night air, and has properly toweled itself off, penis owners the world over better watch their back, or, in this case, they better watch their front. Why is that exactly? Well, a grim-faced chick named Brenda is straight-up irritated by all the wanton rape and murder that's been befalling those close to her as of late. The equivalent of an unclean hand slapping against your wart-covered inner thigh whilst perusing the results of your ex-girlfriend's chlamydia test, Savage Streets (a.k.a. Straße der Gewalt and Zombie Brigade) is cinematic filth at its finest. Exploding with tactless dialogue, synthesizer-enhanced metal riffs, stupefying shower fights, outdoor strutting, gratuitous camera angles, and the most intrusive boom microphone in movie history (Edit: I'm happy to report that the intrusive boom microphone is nowhere to be found on the new DVD), this trashy flick from writer-director Danny Steinmann (Friday the 13th: A New Beginning) is a raw and ugly look into the tightly-garbed underbelly of teenage gangsterism. Pulling no punches when comes to depicting a society so obsessed with sex and violence, that it can no longer protect its citizens from experiencing both on a semi-regular basis, the barely competent highly entertaining film gingerly sets the stage for its unabashedly full-bosomed champion to implement her unique brand of urban comeuppance. And when that juicy retribution is finally distributed, I have to say, the satisfaction I felt went way beyond the normal constructs of conventional giddiness. So much so, that I kinda wish she could have killed some of them more than once.

Sporting her trademark curvaceous body, a healthy mop of wild yet manageable hair (only the sauciest of headbands dare tame this ample mane), and the foulest mouth this side of Wilshire Boulevard, Linda Blair is a festering cauldron of unmitigated sexiness as Brenda, a scrappy as fuck, crossbow-wielding juvenile delinquent who takes on a smallish throng of leathery hooligans called "The Scars."

Proving yet again that she is one of the most accomplished thespians of her generation, the vivacious Linda Blair is literally seeping toughness as Brenda, a no-nonsense mega-babe who isn't afraid no-one. Take the opening scene, for example, it shows her aggressively prancing up and down Hollywood Boulevard with her gal pals. Solidifying her toughness, her strutting style is awash with an unfermented feistiness. Sheathed in light blue satin trousers (which is apt, since her gang is called "The Satins"), a light blue, chest-enhancing tube-top, and a light blue headband (as you probably guessed, light blue is her preferred colour for this evening), Brenda, and, to a lesser extent, her friends, stalk the streets looking for trouble.

As they're walking down the street (window shopping, perusing smutty magazines, eating ice cream), trouble actually finds them in the form of The Scars, a gang lead by Jake (Robert Dyer), an ill-tempered thug with a Boston accent. Coming close to running over her deaf-mute sister Heather (Linnea Quigley) with their convertible, this near tragedy causes Brenda and Jake to pepper one another verbal insults. Realizing that he was in wrong, Jake apologizes to the girls. Well, actually, Jake makes Fargo (Sal Landi), the strongest member of The Scars, apologize -- you know, since he was driving. Either way, the two gangs go their separate ways.

Unsatisfied by the way the altercation with The Scars played out, and still reeling over the fact her sister was nearly killed by a bunch of contemptible lowlifes, Brenda devises a plan to get back at them. Okay, I wouldn't exactly call stealing their car, going for a joy ride, and filling said car with clumps of Hollywood trash when they're finished with it the kind of action that needs a plan. But that's precisely what the girls end up doing. Of course, the whole joy ride episode upsets The Scars like you wouldn't believe. Sure, their car, other than being a little smelly from all the garbage, is still drivable, but you could totally tell they were not going to let this go.

Unamused by the fact they're being forced to exercise (they get plenty of cardio stalking the streets of Hollywood on a nightly basis) in the school's gym, Brenda and her friends, Rachel (Debra Blee), Francine (Lisa Freeman), Stevie (Marcia Karr), Maria (Luisa Leschin), and Stella (Ina Romeo), move their shapely bodies with as little enthusiasm as humanly possible.

Speaking of shapely bodies, while Linda Blair gets the majority of the attention in the film, and justifiably so (she wields a crossbow in skintight clothing), I thought Marica Karr (Killer Workout) was the most attractive member of Brenda's gang. The sight of Marcia (who's a dead ringer for Gina Gershon) hopping around in that cut-off tank-top (which, in actuality, was an altered Specials t-shirt that was not cut-ff but rather cinched above the waist), striped leotard bottom, and those black footless tights (the clingy material pressing snugly against her tender thighs) during the exercise sequence was a thing of erection-based beauty.

We're introduced to two more female characters in the form of Cindy (Rebecca Perle) and Valerie (Kristi Somers), two blonde, bubbly cheerleaders. Taking exception with the fact that Wes (Brian Frishman), her purported boyfriend, was flirting Brenda while she pretended to exercise, Cindy confronts her in the girls locker room and basically tells her to stay away from him. A fight breaks out, which eventually moves to showers. Surrounded by a weird mix of clothed and naked girls, Brenda and Cindy battle it out in the school's steam-laden girl's shower room (a couple of naked girls can be seen fighting with one another in the background, but the exact nature of their beef is unclear).

Meanwhile, back in the gymnasium, as Brenda and Cindy are being reprimanded by Principal "Go Fuck an Iceberg!" Underwoord (John Vernon) in his office, the Scars are laying a nasty trap for Heather. As the punk-infused Red (Scott Mayer) plays nice with her (he's pretending to be an upstanding gentlemen with, albeit, creepier-than-usual overtones), the rest of the Scars, which include the aforementioned Jake, the vest-wearing Fargo, and the pint-size Vince (Johnny Venocur), the only Scar who actually still goes to school, wait for their opportunity to strike.

What takes place next is a brutal gang rape, which obviously sets the stage for Brenda's revenge. Of course, she doesn't know who's responsible for the crime, so she ends up spending most of her time brooding at a local nightclub and getting in fights with Cindy, the cheerleader (in a classic scene, Brenda forcibly removes her rival's top during a science class dust-up). However, when she does find out, the Scars better watch out, because Brenda takes her revenge seriously. How seriously? Well, let's just say, she has an already outfit picked out for the occasion (when seeking retribution, never, and I mean, never, underestimate the importance of fashion).

Whether calling an insensitive gang member a "motherfucking moron," or pulling at the hair of a blonde adversary, the pugnacious Linda Blair exudes a genuine quality that comes across like a burning sceptre floating in a mound of mucus. In other words, when the contents of her right fingerless glove make a fist, you know every rapist in town will be expelling a fair amount of pee come judgment day.

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Night of the Creeps (Fred Dekker, 1986)

Some people describe paradise as a place where inflation is nonexistent and sore-free miscreants are always at the ready to lick your genitals. Others describe it as a giant vat of creamed corn. However, extremely normal people, like myself, see things quite differently. You see, our paradise bares a striking resemblance to a nondescript screening of Fred Dekker's exceedingly awesome Night of the Creeps, the Citizen Kane of intergalactic space slug movies. I mean, does get any better than seeing this film (which is still not available on DVD - Edit: The DVD and Blu-ray was finally released on October 27th 2009 by Sony Pictures Home Entertainment) on the big screen with a packed house full of rowdy creep fans? I don't think it does. (The fact that director Fred Dekker and star Steve Marshall were in attendance, and took part in a humourous Q&A afterward, wasn't too shabby, either.) Clear as the strategically-torn fishnets on a surly squeegee kid from Penetanguishene, everything in this film appeared to me like a crystallized beam of unclouded tranquility. Everything from the intense legginess of a couple of lounging sorority sisters to the repetitious ramblings of an easily amused custodian ("screaming like banshees"), was all there, staring back at me; and it was glorious.

The film is about this cryogenic stiff–who has been on ice since 1959–being inadvertently un-thawed by a couple of socially awkward fraternity pledges. At first, it just seems like a prank gone awry, but little do they know, that they've awakened the space slugs that live inside the stiff's brain. It's a long story how they got in there, but needless to say, the slimy critters need to find brains, so they can incubate, and where better to find fresh young minds than fraternity row? In charge of stopping the slugs is a hard-boiled cop, a cop whose high school sweetheart was killed by an axe murder–also in 1959 (they may be related).

It's true, Night of the Creeps may not have been the scariest or goriest film to claw its way out of the neon blur that was 1980s, but it sure was the most fun. And I can totally see why I watched it so many times back in the day when I did nothing but fondle my malnourished puppy. The way it combined the gratuitous nudity and frat boy shenanigans of your average teenage party movie, with the walking corpses and exploding heads of an intergalactic zombie epic, was obviously very appealing to the younger version of me.

And call me somewhat deranged, but shapely coeds combing the hair in dainty sleepwear while their decaying boyfriends lurk on the porch of their sorority is all I really need when it comes to cinematic satisfaction. They don't even have to interact; she can just comb, he can just lurk. It's all copacetic, baby.

The wonderful Tom Atkins gives grizzled detectives a good name with his turn as Det. Cameron. Impatient, churlish and forthright, Atkins is an utter delight (you know, the kind of delight who wields a large shotgun and has a penchant for kicking zombie ass). Whether he's emitting the words "Thrill Me" or mocking the incompetence of others, the accomplished thespian creates a timeless character who verbalizes some the film's most memorable dialogue.

However, Steve Marshall does come close to stealing the picture from Mr. Atkins as J.C. Hooper, the best friend and roommate of Christopher Romero (the film's shy hero played by Jason Lively). Steve's monologue about Lively's incessant whining was so great, that it was greeted with enthusiastic applause.

While the lovely Jill Whitlow redefines the image of the damsel-in-distress as the wonderfully-named Cynthia Cronenberg (all the main characters are named after well-regarded genre directors). Sure, it takes her longer than usual to realize her asshole boyfriend's head is replete with predatory slugs from outer space, but her first-rate flamethrower skills more than make up for her lack of zombie awareness.

Oh, and personal fave Suzanne Snyder (Killer Klowns From Outer Space) has a brief yet integral role as a sorority girl, one who is obviously from The Valley.

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Prom Night IV: Deliver Us from Evil (Clay Borris, 1992)

Some hated the fact that the series had turned into a full-blown comedy with Prom Night III: The Last Kiss, a film where a Canadian heavyweight boxing legend is killed with an electric egg beater. Well, not me. However, after the unapologetic stupidity of the third chapter, it was the only logical direction the series could have taken. So, it makes perfect sense that Prom Night IV: Deliver Us from Evil would be so serious-minded when it came to doling out prom-based chills and thrills. In fact, the fourth film is so somber, that it literally bypasses the prom altogether (the film is still technically set on prom night). You could take the scene where the four protagonists drive past the prom (the guys moon the prom goers assembled outside) as a slap in the face to the fans of the prom night movie franchise, but I've not chosen not to do it. The series instead decides to reconnect with its slasher roots and concentrates on the pious misadventures of a psychopathic priest named Father Jonas (James Carver). Which means no Mary Lou Maloney and definitely no more demonic hobby horses; in fact, the supernatural angle of the last two chapters has been dropped entirely. Nope, this sequel is purely about the stalking sinful teenagers. Which include the virginal Meagan (Nicole de Boer), the easy-going Laura (Joy Tanner), and their justifiably horny boyfriends, Mark and Jeff (to be honest, I couldn't really tell the difference between these guys, but, either way, they're played by J.H. Wyman and Alle Ghadban).

They've decided to skip the prom in order to enjoy a booze and sex-fueled evening at a large isolated house in the woods. The bulk of the film takes place at this house, and is pretty effective in a Black Christmas kinda of way; lot's of P.O.V. shots, heavy breathing, and the use of a creepy attic. Though, I could have done without Laura's exhaustive wood run; a drawn out sequence involving a platinum blonde Joy Tanner retrieving firewood in a skimpy dress. Sure, it sounds sexy on paper, but did she have to stay out there for so long?

The gorgeous Nicole de Boer (credited here as 'Nikki') is pint-sized hunk of Toronto-reared adorableness as Meagan, a girl who discovers the power of lingerie thanks to her more experienced friend. The actress best known for Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and for being one of the few women to appear regularly on Kids in the Halls (Laura!) is scrumptious treat in this standard slashing affair.

The lesbian-tinged lingerie dress-up session Nicole de Boer shares with Joy Tanner is a perverts dream come true.

Sporting a pair of tan stockings (which are slipped on her stockings in a highly seductive manner) with a white garter belt , Nicole coyly teases the audience with her diminutive brand of hotness.

I loved Joy's explanation to Nicole as to why they have to wear lingerie underneath their clothes: "Guys are so sleazy, it's great."

Realizing that the entire film can't be Nicole de Boer and Joy Tanner trying on lingerie for ninety minutes straight (even though I would totally watch that movie), the makers of Prom Night IV: Deliver Us from Evil decide it's time to stalk horny teenagers. Wearing a short blue dress that accentuated the dangling nature of her exquisite gams, Nicole de Boer spends most of the film running from a psychotic killer. A mild yawn.

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Prom Night III: The Last Kiss (Ron Oliver, 1990)

The gym's been repainted and the bloodstains from Mary Lou's late '80s rampage have been removed just in time for prom season at Hamilton High, the unluckiest high school in all of Southern Ontario, er, I mean, Southern Ohio. Oh, who am I kidding? This direct-to-video horror comedy was obviously filmed somewhere in the Greater Toronto Area. While Prom Night III: The Last Kiss, directed by Ron Oliver and Peter Simpson, embraces the tone of its awesome predecessor (campy dialogue, teased hair, gaudy sweaters, and a retro fifties motif), it's completely different in terms of ghastliness. The kills, for instance, are all executed in the goofiest manner possible in this film. Sure, they were pretty goofy in Hello Mary Lou: Prom Night II, but I think most fans of the prom night series will agree that you can't get any goofier than the sight of heavyweight boxer George Chuvalo screaming like a little girl as a result of being stabbed through the hands with ice cream cones by a shapely woman standing over a sign that says, "yum-yum" or the sight of the captain of the football team (Go, Badgers! Go!) being impaled on a goalpost by a corkscrew-tipped pigskin. Well, you could try to be goofier, but I'm afraid that would be a fruitless endeavour. The third film in the epic saga sees unbalanced 1950s Prom Queen and opera glove enthusiast, Mary Lou Maloney (this time played by the physically arousing Courtney Taylor), using a nail file, breaks out of the fiery depths of hell (a hilarious intro that boasts the leggiest chain gang sequence in the long, storied history of leggy chain gang sequences)

This leggy chain gang sequence you speak of, surely it can't be real? Oh, it's real, my leg appreciating friend. A group of women, their legs sheathed in torn black stockings, do their best of impression of the Rockettes, while Mary Lou Maloney, a gal who has clearly had enough of hell, plans her escape. What's great about this opening sequence, besides the nylon-assisted legginess, is the fact that all the women seem surly. You would surly too if you had to wear ripped lingerie in hell. What am I saying? Of course you wouldn't be surly. If anything you would be pleased as punch by the scenario that plays out at the beginning of this film. But I'm sure normal people would not be pleased.

Her first order of business upon returning to the hallways of Hamilton High is to murder a janitor with a weak ticker. While the death of the school's custodian was satisfactory in terms of feeding her deranged blood lust (it helped that the mop jockey knew she back in the fifties, as she likes her sinister deeds to have a personal touch - killing people at random is not her style), Mary Lou discovers that she needs for a student to fall in love with her in order for her power to be fully restored.

The classically curvaceous Mary Lou chooses Alex Grey (a wide-eyed Tim Conlon), an average kid of average height and shoe size, who is just trying to survive high school with his sanity intact. She watches over the geeky senior by murdering the teachers (electric egg beaters), guidance counselors (acid makeover) and students (weaponized sports equipment) that stand his way. Of course, Alex doesn't want her to kill them, but he helps her dispose of their soon-to-be-rotting bodies like a good little sex maniac. You see, he likes to rub up against in a naked kind of way. And why wouldn't he? She looks like a cross between Sherilyn Fenn and Monica Lewinsky (an enchanting combination, if you ask me).

On top of eliminating anyone she perceives to be a threat, Mary Lou helps Alex get to the top of honour list and assists him on the football field.

The sudden change in Alex's behaviour pleases his parents (good grades, increased self-esteem), yet it angers Sarah (Cynthia Preston), his steady, non-evil girlfriend. Even though the two were having relationship issues long before Mary Lou came along (she's not getting her "I love you" returned as much as she used to), her malevolent presence seems to be exacerbating the situation.

Gorgeous, alluring, and, of course, proportionately sound from top to shapely bottom, Courtney Taylor puts on an veritable acting clinic as Mary Lou Maloney, Hamilton High's resident undead harpy. Appearing to Alex in various guises, Courtney is given the opportunity to stretch her muscles as a performer in almost every scene. Whether pretending to be a news anchor or a soda jerk, Courtney manages to convey a sense of believability; despite the fact she's playing a dead teenager from the nineteen-fifties.

The immensely attractive Cynthia Preston (who is also terrific in Pin: A Plastic Nightmare) takes on the uncomplicated role of Sarah with the righteousness of a perfectly stitched jean skirt. A bit of a dim bulb at the film's commencement, Cyndy actually begins develop some plucky attributes by the film's end. Her bravery when it came to battling Mary Lou and her army of the undead prom goers, not to mention, and her improvised flamethrower antics in the prom version of hell against the demonic jukebox and the aforementioned army zombies, for example, was quite impressive. However, it was her delivery of the line, "I don't get mad, I bake!" that was the biggest eye-opener for me, as she managed to turn an act of passive aggressive meekness into an act that oozed girl power.

While not quite as punchy as part two, Prom Night III: The Last Kiss is a surprisingly worthy addition to the prom night movie franchise.

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