Friday the 13th Part VII: The New Blood (Jon Carl Buechler, 1988)

Tired of constantly being cast aside like some sort of non-leggy nonentity with some sort of hyper-contagious pussy disease, Maddy–last name unavailable due to either indifference or substandard screenwriting, though, my money is on the former, as the script is surprisingly well-written–has decided that she's had enough. Had enough of what, you ask? Well, if you watch Jon Carl Buechler's Friday the 13th Part VII: The New Blood, like I just did, you too can totally find out what Maddy has had enough of. You can see it brewing on Maddy's face the moment we meet her in one of the houses situated on the picturesque shores of Crystal Lake. As each new scene begins, the amazing Diana Barrows (My Mom's a Werewolf), the actress whose job it is to bring Maddy to life, slowly unveils her character's frustration with the events that are transpiring right before her equally frustrated eyes at the surprise birthday party for a friend named Michael (William Butler). Okay, I've let this charade go on for long enough. Charade?!? What are you talking about? I mentioned the title of the film. Hell, I even name-dropped "Crystal Lake." What more do you want? It's not that, it's just that I couldn't help but notice that Diana Barrows gets tenth billing or something ridiculous like that. Actually, I think it was more like, seventh or eighth. But what's you point? Are you sure she deserves this amount of attention? Am I sure? What the fuck? Listen, buddy. If it wasn't for Diana Barrows, I wouldn't have even watched this film.

Oh, sure, the fact the film also features Heidi Kozak (Society) and five, count 'em, five, songs by FM made the decision to seek out the seventh chapter in the mildly storied horror franchise a whole lot easier. But make no mistake, Diana Barrows was the sole reason I dipped my toe in Crystal Lake in the first place.

It sounds like you have never seen a Friday the 13th movie before. And if that's case, what kind of person starts off their trip to Crystal Lake by watching part seven? Wait, let me guess, you're the kind of person, aren't you? You got that right. What I'd like to know is, what kind of person doesn't start off their foray into the mindless world of Jason Voorhees by watching part seven? In my mind, part seven looked like it had the most promise. At any rate, I've been known to peruse the occasional issue of Fangoria every now and then (i.e. issues with Lina Romay and/or Barbara Crampton on the cover), but wouldn't call myself a gorehound. That being said, the kills in this film, and, believe me, there are plenty of kills (a quick look at the film's expansive cast list backs this claim up), all seem to be mostly bloodless affairs. And you know what means? That's right, no arterial spray. Hold up, I thought you said you weren't a "gorehound"? Yeah, I'm not. But I do loves me some well-engineered arterial spray.

However, like I said, this film has no arterial spray to speak of. In fact, the only thing sprayed in this film is a mouthful of beer spewed all over the back of Melissa (Susan Jennifer Sullivan), the film's resident hosebeast, by David (John Renfield), the guy who fails to notice the shapely gams attached to the adorable torso belonging to–you guessed it–Maddy; her legs will not go unnoticed.

Okay, since the gore has been neutered, no doubt by the dreaded MPAA, what do you plan to write about? Wow, that's a tough question. Just kidding. My Friday the 13th reviews are going to be all about fashion and hosebeasts.

Getting back to Maddy for a second, the reason David fails to notice Maddy's shapely stems is because he never got a chance to see them in all their shapely glory. And, if you think about it, that's the most tragic aspect about Friday the 13th Part VII: The New Blood. I guess you could say the fact that almost everyone is murdered is tragic, but I still think unappreciated gams are more so.

What's really frustrating, gore-wise, is that there's more gore in the pre-opening credits prologue than there is in the entire film itself. Either way, it's a good thing the prologue was there, as it gave a Friday the 13th neophyte like myself a quick refresher course on what took place in the previous movie. And it would seem that Jason Voorhees (Kane Hodder) is currently languishing at the bottom of Crystal Lake.

Cursed to keep coming back to life to kill all the teenagers and adult hangers-on who dare to disturb his watery grave (he famously drowned in the lake as a child), Jason is resurrected by Tina Shepard (Lar Park Lincoln), a psychic teen with the same genetic structure that of actress Amy Smart (Crank: High Voltage). Haunted by the fact that she accidentally killed her father as a child (she caused the dock he was standing on to collapse with her mind), Tina is brought back to scene of that traumatic event by her mother (Susan Blu) and the shady Dr. Crews (Terry Kiser), a psychiatrist who thinks Tina is ready to confront her demons in the real world.

Oh, and you wanna guess the name of the lake where Tina killed her father? That's right, it's Crystal Lake, the very same lake where Jason Voorhees met his demise.

I'm no math whiz, but that doesn't sound like a lot of people for Jason Voorhees to kill. I mean, you listed, like, three people. Don't worry, the house next to Tina's place is filled to the brim with horny teenagers. They're apparently throwing a surprise birthday party for guy named Michael, the cousin of Nick (Kevin Spirtas), a hunky guy who awkwardly greets Tina when she arrives... at Crystal Lake.

You'll notice as Nick is awkwardly greeting Tina (he drops her suitcase, causing her delicate unmentionables to spill all over the gravel driveway) that Sandra (Heidi Kozak) and Melissa are watching from the comfort of their beach chairs. Clad in bikinis and drinking the latest soft drinks currently on the market, Melissa, for dramatic effect, pulls down her sunglasses from their normal position, and makes her first catty comment. I think she says something along the lines of: "There goes the neighbourhood." Well, whatever it what was that she said, it's clear that Jason Voorhees isn't the only one gunning for Tina.

Speaking of Jason, later that night, Tina inadvertently resurrects Jason Voorhees while moping near the lake. Wait, lake adjacent moping caused to Jason Voorhees to come back to life? Well, you see, Tina's telekinetic powers are at their strongest when she's emotionally distraught. And, the last time I checked, moping near a large body of fresh water is a legitimate form of adolescent agitation.

Soaking wet and covered with wounds (dig the exposed spine, bro), Jason Voorhees doesn't waste much time finding some horny teens to slaughter. Unfortunately, the first teens he stumbles across are Michael and his denim-attired ladyfriend Jane (Staci Greason) just as they were making their way to the lake. Hold on, isn't Michael the birthday boy? Yep. Aww, man, that's a shame. He also stumbles across some campers, too; bashing the female camper against a tree while she was still in her sleeping bag. Ouch.

When Nick, unaware that his cousin has been brutally murdered by a zombie in an old-timey goalie mask, invites Tina to come over to the party, we're introduced to even more teens. Yay! More teens means more machete fodder for Jason. And, most importantly, we're introduced to Maddy (Diana Barrows), a frumpy girl who, according to her friend Robin (Elizabeth Kaitan), could use "a little touch-up work." I know, some friend, eh? But the reason for the diss was because of David, the guy Maddy and Robin both have their eye on. And what Robin was trying to do was undermine her confidence; it's what teenage girls supposedly do to one another. Anyway, an annoying wannabe horror director named Eddie (Jeff Bennett), and Ben (Craig Thomas) and Kate (Diane Almeida), a nondescript couple, are introduced as well. I'm probably missing someone, but my attention is obviously elsewhere.

Am I crazy, or is Heidi Kozak wearing the exact same outfit (a pair of cut-off jean shorts and a yellow top) that she wore in Slumber Party Massacre II? Both films were made around the same time, so it's technically possible. But still, it's highly unusual. Costume recycling notwithstanding, Heidi Kozak looks amazing in this get-up.

Remember when Robin, who I think was wearing a yellow blazer at the time, tells Maddy that she needs "a little touch-up work"? Well, that comment has the opposite effect on her, as it motivates her to give herself a makeover. Instead of wallowing on the couch in self-pity, Maddy marches upstairs and busts out the lipstick.

That's right, it's Maddy makeover time. Even though I have only one Friday the 13th film under my belt so far, I can safely say that Maddy's makeover scene and the subsequent stalking sequence are probably the greatest the franchise has to offer in terms of fashion and stalking.

After putting the finishing touches on her lipstick, Maddy says to herself, "'Need a little touch-up' my ass." Yeah, baby! Work it, girl!

Wearing a super-short light blue dress, a white belt, and a pair of white pumps, Maddy and her legs are ready to wow David. Only problem being, she can't seem to find him? Now, I don't know what lead her to believe that he might be out in the woods. But nonetheless, that's where she looks.

Call me perverted, but I could have sworn I saw the top of Maddy's stockings when she crawls underneath a tool shed door. Yeah, you know what? I'm officially adding tan stockings to Maddy's ensemble. And in doing so, I just made the Maddy vs. Jason Voorhees sequence even greater. You're welcome, perverts.

It helps that Diana Barrows, on top of being a fine actress, is also a terrific screamer.

Holding her white pumps in her hand, Maddy awaits her fate. Which is something the other characters aren't given. What I mean is, the others are merely killed without much fanfare (each is summarily executed after coitus). Whereas Maddy's death sequence contains all the elements horror fans look for in a good kill.

In case you haven't heard, I'm new to the franchise. But Tina going toe-to-toe with Jason Voorhees can't be a normal sight in the Friday the 13th universe. In fact, I've read that Tina is one of the few characters who actually fights back against Jason Voorhees (she even causes Jason to employ several "what the fuck" head turns). Using her telekinesis to thwart Jason's many attempts to kill her, I thought Tina, not Jason, was the real threat in this movie (she removes his trademark goalie mask by simply raising her left eyebrow).

Adding everything I just mentioned about Diana Barrows and Heidi Kozak, I will be genuinely shocked if any of the other movies (holy crap, it says here they made ten films) can top the erratic awesomeness that Friday the 13th Part VII: The New Blood puts out there on a semi-regular basis.

Slumber Party Massacre II (Deborah Brock, 1987)

Boring enthusiasts rejoice! The Driller Killer is back, baby! Hey, you! Yeah, the sheepish individual sitting cross-legged in the corner. Do you like to watch youngish women, and their annoying boyfriends, murdered with power tools, specifically the large, guitar-shaped variety? Well, then do I got a film for you. Whoa, whoa, hold on a minute. Why am I asking the openly shamefaced if they like to watch men and women get poked violently with drills? And why am I using so many exclamation points and asking so many questions? The question you should be asking yourself is: Why on earth did it take you so long to bathe your taupe-flavoured eyeballs in this pastel-coloured piece of cinematic resplendence? Yeah, that's right, it's resplendent as all get out. The scrunchi-rific Slumber Party Massacre II (a.k.a. Don't Let Go) is a straight up masterpiece, yo. Featuring unexpected pus, vibrant clothing, multiple bottles of New York Seltzer (the elusive beverage also makes an appearance in Deadly Prey), strategically placed bits of denim, and girlish pillow fights (the kind that cause horny bass players to jettison their bras), filmmaker Deborah Brock (Rock 'n' Roll High School Forever) has somehow managed to add enough skull-scratching weirdness to a film that is basically about a drill-wielding maniac to fill up a neglected, algae-stained kiddie pool.

Weirdness is fine and dandy, but is the film's drill still a penis substitute? You better believe it is, and even more so, if you ask me. As in The Slumber Party Massacre (come for the drilled teenagers, stay for Debra Deliso's delicious gams), the assailant in Slumber Party Massacre II, an Andrew Dice Clay imitator who's a staunch advocate for the preservation of rock 'n' roll, handles his tool like it were a fully engorged member; thrusting it deep inside the bodies of those he wants to penetrate.

I thought the sequel's guitar-factor added an extra layer of genital-centric oomph to the proceedings, as it's been said that the guitar is the ultimate replacement for a non-existent cock. The way it's pushed forward in a sort of humping manner on stage sends out a clear signal to those ovulating in the audience that their potent seed is ready to rock. You could say–and you know I will–that the guitar is the ball sack (a warm, thoroughly complex housing used to hold seminal fluid), and the drill itself is the penis (a shaft-like delivery mechanism used primarily for stabbing at crevices).

While everyone has to deal with the threat that an erect penis poses at one point or another during their lifetime, it's safe to say that female slumber party attendees are the segment of the population that are the one's most at risk. Oh, sure, there are handful of them that love to poke around inside men, exploring the depths of their masculinity like a deranged dentist, but the fleshy appendages seem to especially adore stingily attired women. There's something about their delectable shape that drives all the driller wielders wild, and the same can said for those who carry red guitar-drills. My point is, while it's obvious that they prefer to drill ladies, they will stick themselves in a man if they have to.

Targeting Courtney Bates (Crystal Bernard), the younger sister of the main final girl from the first film, The Driller Killer (Atanas Ilitch), now an obnoxious creep in a frayed leather jacket who takes unorthodox cigarette immolation to a whole nother level of campiness, torments the high school senior and budding rock star (she plays a teal-coloured guitar and sings backing vocals in an all-girl pop band) by menacing the suspender-wearing scamp in her dreams.

If you remember Courtney from the first chapter of the slumber party saga, you'll recall that she lived in Venice, California, loved perform self-massage, and had a thing for orange short shorts (but then again, so did everyone in 1982). Now a shy girl–the kind that like to admire dead birds on their way to school–Courtney has made it clear that she does not want to spend her birthday visiting her older sister Valerie (Cindy Eilbacher) at the local mental hospital (all the drilling and killing that went down way back in '82 has apparently traumatized her sister to the point of institutionalized madness). Instead, she begs her mom (the fabulous Jennifer Rhodes - "Veronica, dinner!") to allow her to spend the weekend with her gal pals/bandmates at an undeveloped condo out in the desert.

Employing the help of her friend Amy (Kimberly McArthur), after, of course, they're done singing along to "Tokyo Convertible" on the radio, Courtny asks Matt (Patrick Lowe), a hunky guy she often imagines catching a football without his shirt on, to attend one of their after-school rehearsals. When he arrives later that day, the band is the middle of performing "If Only," (a catchy number that is actually a song by Wednesday Week). The unnamed band, who I've decided to call "The Pink Scrunchies" in honour of their drummer's, you guessed it, pink scrunchie, are Courntey (guitar, backing vocals), Amy (a guitar player who seems to be channeling Diane Keaton from Annie Hall, albeit, a more bosomy version), Sheila Barrington (Juliette Cummins) is the band's bass player and lead vocalist, and Sally Burns (Heidi Kozak) is their scrunchie-sporting, Slice-drinking drummer. After they're done, and finished engaging in some restrained tongue-kissing around back, Courtney invites Matt to their much ballyhooed desert condo lark.

Load up the station wagon, because it's time to hit the road and prepare for what Sally declares will be: "the ultimate slumber party weekend!" Smacking the back of the passenger side headrest like it were a snare drum with her pink drum sticks, Sally makes her bold announcement like it were a call to action. Just for the record, whenever someone is done yelling "the ultimate slumber party weekend," they must, utilizing their vocal chords, let out a loud wooing sound. How long they "woo" for is entirely up to the person doing the wooing. But make no mistake, a moderately sustained "woo" must be uttered. Feel free to add a "yeah" to the end of your woo. For example: "Who's ready for the ultimate slumber party weekend? Wooooooo! Yeah!" I find that it gives the wooer a sense of closure.

When they finally arrive at their destination, the girls get right down to business. Busting out the booze and corn dogs, Sally declares (the girl loves to declare shit) that she can't wait to be in movies and rock videos. This firm pronouncement inspires the girls to dance seductively to "Hell's Cafe" by Hell's Cafe, hit each other with pillows, and strip down to their underwear, well, Heidi Kozak (Society) and Juliette Cummins (Friday the 13th: A New Beginning) do most of the striping down (I guess the former Playboy Playmate and future Wings star were too bashful to get their sexy on). Watching all this rambunctious behaviour take place from the pervy comfort of a window are two male acquaintances, the James Duval-esque T.J. (Joel Hoffman from Killer Workout) and Jeff (Scott Westmoreland), who show up a day early to cause trouble.

Sitting by the pool in the foetal position, Courtney, wearing a pink and purple bikini, is still shaken by the intensity of her recent drill-themed dreams. Consoled by Amy, who's tender bits are sheathed in a teal-cyan-navy blue bikini, Courtney paints a pretty bleak picture. The Driller Killer, who is still an ominous figure wrapped in mystery (he only appears in brief flashes), continues to haunt her. Most in attendance agree that T.J.'s decision to throw her in the pool was ill-conceived. Sure, Sheila, who looked scrumptious in a bikini whose colour scheme was similar to Amy's, scolds him for being so stupid (I think she calls him a "jerk"), but the chlorine treated water seems to aggravate Courtney's already fragile mental state.

Speaking of aggravation, where was Sally when all the poolside frivolity was going down? You mean to tell me you made a movie with a pool scene and you forgot to include Heidi Kozak? Is that what you're telling me? Luckily, Heidi shows up a little later in teal bikini, which looked super-awesome against her blonde hair and white scrunchie. But the fact Heidi wasn't featured in the pool scene was outrageous. Oh, and the scrunchie change–you know, from pink to white, while troublesome at first, made it perfect sense. Check this out, not only did it match the straps of her bathing suit, but it was the same shade as her acne medication.

Sticking with the Kozak theme. I won't lie, a small part of me thinks that I've been going to the jean short well far too often as of late. Waxing semi-poetically about their skimpy appeal like an unhinged freak with some kind of denim-only brand of Tourette's syndrome, my mind seems awash with the coarse fabric. However, you've got to understand that if the movie I'm watching features a character, or, in some rare cases, multiple characters, who appear on-screen wearing jean shorts for an extended period of time, it's not only my duty to comment on them, it's my birth right.

When it came time to examine Heidi Kozak's heterogeneous jean short work in Slumber Party Massacre II, I chose to use a more analytical point of view, as supposed to my usual crotch-based approach. Why was she wearing them? And why were they so short? The length question is the most baffling because shorts in 1980s, according to my sources in the fashion industry, were getting longer and baggier with each passing year, especially since the cancellation of The Dukes of Hazzard in 1985. On the other hand, Heidi's shorts seemed to be getting shorter as the movie progressed. And, as an expert when it comes to short length, I was left mystified by this backward state of affairs.

As to why she was wearing them? Well, I think it had a lot to do with Sally wanting to divert attention away from her face. You see, while Sally is a gorgeous human being, and, I must say, the sexiest member of The Pink Scrunchies (her Valley Girl accent, affinity for the colours teal and pink, song writing prowess, love of killer corn dogs, and yellow tummy top drove me insane), she is quite self-conscious when it comes to her skin. She thinks her face is covered with pimples, but in reality, her complexion, much like her aura, is flawless. Nevertheless, by wearing the shortest jean shorts in the long and storied history of jean shorts, she feebly attempts to deflect, what she perceives as judgmental leering, and shift the focus instead on to the impeccable length of her shapely legs.

While the design of the guitar drill, the uncooked chicken attack, the pus facial, the sight of a breakdancing Driller Killer, and the exquisite paleness of Juliette Cummins's supple frame (which looked amazing in a pair of barely black nylons) were all terrific, the real star, of course, was Nadine Reimers. Who's that, you say? Well, let me put ot this way, without her, you wouldn't have the incredible shrinking jean shorts, garish swimwear, or colourful dresses that looked like they were haphazardly splashed with house paint.

As the film's costume designer, Nadine was responsible, along with production designer John Eng, for creating the candy-coloured temperament that permeates the chromatic core of the Slumber Party Massacre II universe. Seriously, every scene has this pastel flavour about it that calms your nerves (which need calming, you know, with all that drilling going on). Their crowning achievement comes when Crystal Bernard's cherry blossom pink outfit and the kitchen curtains were in perfect harmony with one another. Now you could say that it's one of the accidental benefits of making a film in the late '80s, or you could say that it was a direct result of Nadine and John's commitment to excellence. And you know what? I choose to believe it was the latter.

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Society (Brian Yuzna, 1989)

We all want to feel like we belong to something that is greater than ourselves. In olden times this belonging void was filled by either dying of typhoid at early age (thus eliminating the need to discover a future outlet) or heed the nonsensical words uttered by undersexed men in robes. Call me someone who is full of piss yet nary a drop of vinegar, but as far choices go, that's not much of a selection. Nowadays, though, it has become a lot harder to find a group or thing to latch onto; in that, there so many different types of diversions, that choosing the one that is right for you can take as long as twenty years–I didn't discover I was into garish eyeshadow until I was 19 years old. Well, in Brian "Return of the Living Dead 3" Yuzna's twisted and strange Society, that choice is made for you, as in you're either a member of a society or you're not. What these so-called members of society do exactly in their precious society isn't quite clear early on, but you know you want to be associated with them one way or the other. Being the member of an affluent family, captain of the football team and the debating team, relatively handsome, the owner of a black jeep, and dating the head cheerleader, you'd think Bill Whitney (Billy Warlock from TV's Baywatch) would be a card carrying member of society.

However, that's not even close to being the case with the seemingly perfect high school senior. In-between psychiatry sessions and paranoid delusions, Bill has always suspected that there was something weird going on with his family. Up until now, the Beverly Hills, California teen's semi-regular bouts with hallucinatory madness have severely clouded his judgment when it comes to appraising sinister tomfoolery. This all changes when his sister's recently dumped (and extremely possessive) boyfriend (Tim Bartell) shares with Bill some of his disturbing discoveries while stalking her.

It turns out his paranoia is justified; this is especially true when he hears a tape of his sister Jenny (Patrice Jennings) getting it on (fornicating) with mom and dad.

Also giving Bill something to think about in the "my family is a highly organized collection of freaks" department was when the troubling sight of Jenny's irregularly located nipples first entered his visual arena. It's true, that he spots her back boobies through a blurry shower door. But still, there was definitely some mammary gland displacement going on in that spacious bathroom.

The fact that a guy with such a long list advantages in life, and, not to mention, a beautifully symmetrical head of hair, is having such a hard time fitting into a community that is pretty much tailor made for him was just one of the many fascinating things about Society, a film that dares to illuminate the dangers of yuppie acceptance, while simultaneously grossing out everyone within a four block radius.

If I was ignorant enough to think that the film's slight satirical bent, the pink bikini and acid wash accented gams of a structurally confident Heidi Kozak (Slumber Party Massacre II), and the front row exhibitionism of a noble-minded society member played by the delectable Devin DeVasquez (House II: The Second Story) was all Society had to offer in terms of corruptible nectar, I was promptly enlightened the moment the members of society began to disrobe at a swanky get together. Because what happens after they remove their clothes is something I will never forget.

Quite often when scribbling about encounters of an erotic nature, I will use the word "commingle," as in, "their firm bodies commingled with one another like a festering stew," to describe the act of inflamed human genitals lashing out at one another in a veiled attempt to find liquid satisfaction. It's a saucy metaphor for copulation, one that has yet to fail me when it comes to overstating the obvious. That is until I came face-to-face with the regurgitated mucus stain that is your average society orgy.

An extremely disgusting cornucopia of unknown wetness and coalescing flesh, the members of society have an irregular mind set when it comes to partying while naked. Gleefully feeding off the corporeal essence of any non-members of society they can get their elitist hands on, the debauched participants gather around their "meal" and absorb their fleshy nucleus by drawing it in through the pores of their skin.

I'll admit, I was genuinely appalled by this vile display. But a part of me was transfixed by the profound level of wrongness that was slimily playing out in front of my eyes. I mean, did I really just see Bill's dad transport his face to the dark, and normally uninhabited place, where his anus lives? (It gives new meaning to the crustacean colloquialism: "You've got crabs, ass-face!") Second in terms of did I just see that was the sight of Bill's mom with hands for feet and his sister's head inside her vagina. Whether these things actually transpired or not, there's no denying that the images witnessed during this gooey sequence will haunt me for days to come.

video uploaded by superillusion88

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