Happy Birthday to Me (J. Lee Thompson, 1981)

If you're like me, and you were a little confused by what transpires during the final moments of Happy Birthday to Me, a slasher film with more Canadian content than, oh, let's say... don't you dare say Annie Murray's vagina. Uh... with more Canadian content than... Ahh, my brain isn't working properly. I know, it's a slasher film with more Canadian content than Cynthia Dale's vagina. Yeah, I like that. If you're know the identity of Cynthia Dale's husband, than that line about the contents of her vagina is pure gold. However, if you have no idea who Cynthia Dale is, and, using common sense, you probably have no clue who her husband is either, than I'm afraid I can't help you. What I should have said was: this film is very Canadian, and moved on. But no, I had to show off. Look at me, my references are so off-kilter, please love me! Anyway, like most Canadian exploitation movies from 1970s and 1980s, this particular entry in the slasher free-for-all that was the early '80s tries to hide its Canadian-ness like it were a festering neck boil. Throbbing just beneath the collar of your polo shirt, it's Canuck temperament is just waiting for someone to come along and say the immortal words: Do you want me to squeeze that unsightly nodule pulsating on the back of your neck? You do? Okay, just let me score this game-winning goal against the Soviet Union in the Canada Cup and I'll be right with you. Unfortunately, no one comes along to squeeze your boil. In other words, the film's true Canadian character remains hidden from view. Yeah, hidden from view to those out there languishing in a pit of Canadian ignorance. I, on the other hand, have never spent anytime in that pit. Oh, sure, I don't watch hockey, I rarely ever wear flannel, and I've never been inside a Tim Hortens, but I do know that Lenore Zann, cult movie queen and the voice of Rogue on X-Men: The Animated Series, is the MLA for Truro-Bible Hill.
 

 

Meaning, my knowledge of Canadian culture goes deeper than any of you could possibly imagine. And I can prove it. Now, making smug allusions to my childhood is not something I'm comfortable doing, but I did watch The Hilarious House of Frightenstein as a kid. I know, eh? 'Nuff said. Getting back to my original point, the luminous Lenore Zann is one of the stars of Happy Birthday to Me. That's right. All that blathering I did just was actually pertinent to the movie I'm currently writing about.
 

 

Hell, even the bit about Cynthia Dale was pertinent. How so?!? I'll tell you how so. You see, Cynthia Dale starred in Heavenly Bodies, the greatest leotard-centric movie of all-time. You mean to say that Cynthia Dale is in Happy Birthday to Me? I wish. But not quite. You didn't let me finish. The writer-director of Heavenly Bodies, Lawrence Dane, and the film's male lead, Richard Rebiere, both appear in this film as actors.
 

 

While all that is fascinating stuff, let's stir this ship into more conventional waters, shall we? Welcome to Crawford University, where the so-called "top ten" rule the roost. Oh, look. Here comes one of them now. While I can't see any evidence of a roost being ruled, they do have a certain swagger about the way they walk. Maybe it has something to do with white tights that are currently holding her legs in a nylon stranglehold, or maybe it doesn't; please have something to do with her white tights, I don't ask for much.
 

 

Anyway, if you're a fan of watching Lesleh Donaldson get murdered, you'll love the film's opening scene, as she totally gets murdered in it. And like her legendary date with slasher movie infamy in Curtains, Lesleh's demise is long and drawn out. In other words, it's just the way we like it. Playing Bernadette O'Hara (you can tell she's in the top ten by her purple and grey striped scarf), Lesleh is choked by an unseen assailant in her car (remember, kiddies, always check the backseat for leather-gloved strangers before starting your car). Thrashing her white nylon-adorned legs about the car's interior with a reckless, "I'm about to be straight-up asphyxiated up this here Buick," kind of abandon, Bernadette makes a valiant attempt not to get strangled to death. And you know what? That effort sort of pays off. Sort of? Yeah, she eventually gets her throat slasher with a razor. But you got to hand it to her, she's in, or, she was in, the top ten for a reason.
 

 

Where was Bernadette going before she got killed, you ask? She was heading over to the local university watering hole to have a pint with the other members of the top ten, that's where. Well, as we all know, she doesn't quite make it. The exalted top ten have already been reduced by one, and the film has barely gotten started. And get this, Bernadette was apparently friends with the killer.
 

 

Did you just say...yeah, Bernadette recognized the killer. No, the other part. The top ten have been reduced to nine? Yeah, that part. You mean to say that I've got to keep track of nine characters? It looks like it. Fine. Well, they better kill off a bunch of them over the next ten to fifteen minutes, because there's no way I'm going to be able keep track of all these snobby pricks. You do realize that you just called Lenore Zann a snobby prick? What? Oh, crap. You're right. She's in the top ten. I didn't mean that. What I should have said was, I can't believe Lenore Zann is friends with these assholes.
 

 

After nearly starting a riot with a group of drunk Shriners, the nine members of the top ten spill out onto the street. Hearing that the nearby bascule bridge is about to open, they jump into their respective vehicles, assign each vehicle a number, and proceed to race toward the bridge. A variation on the classic game of chicken, Etienne (Michel-René Labelle) hops aboard his motorcycle and makes the jump with relative ease, then Rudi (David Eisner), with Maggie (Lenore Zann) sitting next to him, makes it safely in his car. Following closely behind Rudi is Ann (Tracey Bregman), who clears the bridge. The final two cars have Steve Maxwell (Matt Craven) behind the wheel of his car and Greg (Richard Rebiere) behind the wheel of his Trans Am. However, unlike Steve, Greg has two passengers, Amelia (Lisa Langlois) and Virginia (Melissa Sue Anderson), a girl who is clearly not into this.
 

 

Um, before I continue. I would like to do a quick head count–you know, to see if I missed anyone. Okay, I counted eight. The reason there are eight instead of nine is because Alfred (Jack Blum) didn't participate in the jump. Now, you would think the reason he didn't jump with the rest of them might have something to do with his outsider status in the group (despite being in the top ten, the others seem to pick on him). But the more logical explanation probably had something to do with the fact that he drives a scooter. And there's no way a scooter would come close making it over the bridge.
 

 

Backing out at the last minute, Steve watches Greg, who seems determined to make it, shoot past him. Oh, sure, they make it. But nevertheless, Virginia freaks out (she gives hissy-fits a bad name). As we'll soon find out, Virginia and the bascule bridge have a bit of a history with one another; a tragic history. In fact, you could even say it's a secret history, as the movie has many things in common with the Donna Tartt novel of the same name.
 

 

Even though Happy Birthday to Me is directed by J. Lee Thompson (10 to Midnight) and has Timothy Bond (One Night Only) listed as a co-writer, you won't find much to savour if you happen to be a pervert. The only reason I mention this is because the film's lone pervert moment, besides the opening scene with Lesleh Donaldson, takes place when Virginia runs home after the bridge incident. After having a dull chat with her father (Lawrence Dane), Virginia, or "Ginny," as her dad likes to call her, goes to her room to change for bed. She doesn't know it, but Etienne has followed her home and is lurking in the bushes. Oh, wait, no, he's moved from lurking to stalking. Yep, he's now outside her bedroom window. All this, by the way, is a veiled attempt to paint Etienne as a suspect. And you know what? I ain't buying it.
 

 

At any rate, there's a close up shot of Ginny's not even close to being granny panties languishing on the carpet of her room during the Etienne stalking sequence. Actually, the pantie close up is, believe or not, integral to the plot, as the very same panties are seen later on in the film. So, technically, the pantie close up wasn't gratuitous. Which, I have to admit, fills me with great sadness. I guess I'll have to take solace in the swooshing nature of the long, scholarly skirts Melissa Sue Anderson and Tracey Bregman wear to science class the very next day, 'cause this film seems to be going out of it's way not to be sleazy. Mmmm, look at those skirts swoosh.
 

 

Speaking of swooshing, there's a scene where the top seven attend a soccer match (two are players, the others are spectators). You mean the sight of David Eisner in tight purple shorts? Actually, that's not what I'm referring to. Though, speaking as a guy who has seen Sleepaway Camp more than six times, I do like men in shorts, especially the super-short variety they wore in the early '80s. No, I'm talking about are the Crawford cheerleaders. Oh, yeah, the cheerleaders. If memory serves me correctly, and it usually does, there are upskirts aplenty in that scene. Exactly. And there's nothing more perverted than leering at a cheerleader (I had my eye on the cheerleader with the letter 'A' on her chest) with the hope that her skirt might rise as result of all that cheer-based jostling they tend to get up to when cheering. And given the skimpy nature of their skirts, it doesn't take much cause them to rise.   
 

 

If you noticed that I said top seven as supposed to top nine. Congrats, you're obviously paying attention. No, you see, two of their ranks have gone missing. Well, they think they're missing, we all know that one of them had their face torn up by a motorcycle engine (here's some free advice, don't work on your motorcycle with the engine running while wearing a scarf) and another had their throat crushed by a barbell. However, don't expect all the kills to be this inventive. I mean, other than a nasty encounter with a shish kebab and that horrible flashback sequence involving brain surgery, you're not got going to find much as far as gore goes. As for the story. Well, we get a ton of misleading plot twists.
 

 

Hi, my name is Alfred. And I'm the biggest red herring the horror genre has ever seen. (Call me crazy, but I thought Alfred was hot. He's got that Keith Gordon/Ron Mael thing going for him.)
 

 

These plot twists all lead us to the film's big Scooby-Doo-style ending. Which, I guess, was sort of satisfying (if anything it explains the film's title). Do I think the film could have had more scenes that featured Lenore Zann? Of course I do; she's awesome. But I have found that you can't always get you want. This is especially true when it comes to Canadian horror films that pretend to take place in New England, but were actually shot in Montréal (according to my exhaustive research, the car stunts were filmed in Phoenix, New York).

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10 to Midnight (J. Lee Thompson, 1983)

Stabbing women in the nude with his trusty butterfly knife is what he likes to do for fun. And when I say, "in the nude," I don't mean to imply that his victims are the ones not wearing any clothes, though, they can be naked if they want to be. No, the assailant at the centre of 10 to Midnight, an engrossing crime thriller about a socially awkward typewriter repairman with terrible luck when it comes to the ladies, likes to commit acts of violence without having to worry about what to wear when he's making with the stabbing. Seriously, though, whether he kills in the nude because he doesn't want to get any blood on his clothes (the most likely reason), does so because he likes the way the wind feels on his unflappable genitals as he stalks his prey (an unlikely reason, but my personal favourite), or because he was forced to wear argyle socks as a child, it doesn't matter. Why's that? Well, there's this veteran detective, a wily old fuck, and he seems extra determined to stop him from doing what he loves. Now, why he's so hellbent on preventing a total stranger from murdering other strangers is something I'm still trying to come to grips with. I mean, I can sort of see why he would want to stop him from killing his daughter. But even that seemed a little over the top, as he didn't even appear to really like her all at that much. Maybe by protecting his estranged daughter from a clothes optional serial killer, the grizzled detective could finally reconnect with her. If all her friends at nursing school have to be brutally murdered in order for this reconciliation to materialize, than so be it. Either way, a cool murderer, a movie buff who likes to kill people while synthesizer music plays is in the background, is being harassed by a massive square who squints a lot, and there was nothing I could do to help him. All he wants to do is disembowel the women who won't date him, yet the short-sighted detective, who seems to have a drab-looking blazer for everyday of the week, would prefer it if he didn't do any disemboweling. Yeah, that's right. No disemboweling whatsoever.

It's true, I did feel bad for the women–and, I suppose, the men who happen to be in the wrong place and at the wrong time (he doesn't even bother to disembowel them, as their merely dispatched as an afterthought)–who are murdered in this movie. But have you ever had hot coffee thrown in your face after trying remove a woman's dress without their permission? Well, I can't say that I have, as I'm a tea drinker who rarely consorts with the coffee crowd. I do, however, have an imagination, and that imagination is telling me that it would be quite unpleasant. Is hot coffee in the face on the same level as being stabbed in the woods in terms of unpleasantness? Probably not. For starters, not many people bounce back from being stabbed in the woods. Just ask all the people who have been stabbed in the woods. Oh, that's right, you can't, as most of them are dead. And, as most people know, one of the benefits to being a sentient life form is the ability to answer questions pertaining to everything from your favourite industrial band to what kind of toppings you like on your pizza.

Opening in a busy Los Angeles police station, we're introduced to Leo Kessler (Charles Bronson), a haggard-looking detective typing away on his typewriter. And judging by his body language, the detective isn't a big fan of paperwork. Speaking of body language, is it wrong that my attention was focused not on the detective, but on the prostitute sitting in the background? I'm gonna go ahead and answer my own question by saying: no, it wasn't wrong. In fact, if anything, it's the directors fault for putting her there in the first place. It didn't help matters that she showed signs of having what is commonly referred to as "involuntary leg movement" (an affliction that usually strikes promiscuous women who sit cross-legged on crappy daytime talk shows).

It's time for the detective's nemesis to be introduced to the audience, and boy, is he something special. First spotted sizing up two women (one sporting a bad perm) leaving an office building, Warren Stacy (Gene Davis) watches them while reminiscing about the time when Betty (June Gilbert), the one without the bad perm, threw coffee on him after he unlawfully tried to unzip her dress. Since I've already alluded to this scene, I'd like to mention that I was somewhat relieved when I found that Betty, and not Karen (Jeana Tomasina), was the one who tossed the coffee on him, as I don't want Karen to be the first woman he kills. How do you know Betty's going to be the first one killed? Haven't you been paying been paying attention? She doused him with coffee.

Anyway, putting the final touches on his hair (blow dried to perfection), Warren is ready to exact his revenge on Betty for the coffee incident. Slipping into a pair of designer jeans, the handsome sicko in the red jacket leaves his apartment with a level of confidence that matches the dapperness of his appearance (all I see nowadays are overconfident assholes whose swagger is totally unjustified). Wait a minute, why he is going to see Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid at the Aero Theatre? I thought he overheard Betty telling Karen that she was going to the woods with her boyfriend, and this is clearly not the woods. Be patient, my friend, Mr. Stacy knows exactly what he's doing. Aggressively hitting on a pair of female movie patrons named Tina (Katrina Parish) and Peg (Shawn Schepps), Warren seems to be purposefully trying to make a lasting impression on the increasingly annoyed ladies. And who can blame him? Who wouldn't want to make a lasting impression on Tina's outstanding ass? (seriously, it looked absolutely divine encased in those super-tight white jeans of hers). But that's neither here nor there.

What he's attempting to do is lay the groundwork for his alibi. Check this out, when the lights go down and movie starts, Warren goes to the washroom, puts on a pair of surgical gloves, and leaves the theatre through an unlocked window above one of the stalls. As far as Tina and Peg are concerned, the good looking creep who was hitting on them is still sitting a couple of rows back. But in reality, he's naked in the woods, looking for a coffee tossing blonde to disembowel. When he finds what he's looking for (fornicating naked in the back of a van with her naked boyfriend), Warren kills the boyfriend, a proceeds to chase Betty through the woods. Naked running leads to naked exhaustion, which is quickly followed by naked cowering and naked crying. As expected, the whole ordeal is capped off with some naked stabbing.

As a fully clothed Warren Stacy is making his way back to the movie theatre, I couldn't help but notice this eerie electronic sound throbbing on the soundtrack. Now, I've heard synths throb in countless movies over the years, but never have I experienced a throbbing synth that was this right on the money in terms of its throb-based synthiness. Kudos to composer Robert O. Ragland for creating such an awesome piece of synthy goodness; it's too bad the entire score couldn't have been like that. But then again, I can't quite picture Charles Bronson doing anything set to synthesizer music, let alone the type that throbs.

When Detective Kessler declares that the killer is obviously using his knife as if it were his penis, I'll admit, I giggled a little bit: "Hee-hee, Charles Bronson just said "penis." But the more I thought about it, the more I agreed with his assessment (which is a rare occurrence since I usually disagree with everything Charles Bronson says in this movie). Think about it, though, all knives are phallic-shaped for a reason; they're primary function is to penetrate the things they're stabbing. And what kind of knife is the ultimate penis substitute? You got it, the butterfly, or "fan knife." And just like your average penis, the butterfly knife needs to be manipulated in order for it to work properly. The killer gives us a quick demonstration, manipulating the handle of his knife several times, before heading out to the movies.

Sadness fills the air of the office where Betty worked, as Karen (her bad perm has been replaced with a more flattering hairdo) expresses shock when she hears the news of her friend/roommate's demise. On the other hand, Warren Stacy, the office's go-to typewriter repairman, doesn't seem shocked at all. Hmmm, I wonder why? Oh yeah, that's right, he's the one who killed her. In order to not to raise suspicion, Warren attends Betty's funeral, along with Karen and the rest of her co-workers. Also in attendance: Laurie Kessler (Lisa Eilbacher), a student nurse who grew up with Betty, her dad Detective Kessler and his new partner Paul McAnn (Andrew Stevens), a detective who is constantly reminded that he doesn't look like a cop.

You have to question Warren Stacy's competency as a serial killer after watching him repeatedly stymied while trying to break into one of Betty's nightstand drawers, as there's nothing sadder than the sight of a naked man struggling to open something so pitiful-looking. Hold on, why is Stacy naked? Is someone about to die? Never mind that. The reason he wants what's inside the drawer is because he caught wind at the funeral that Betty has a diary. Big deal, lot's of grown women keep diaries. Yeah, but she likes to write detailed accounts about all the men in her life, including the creeps at work. And if the cops find out about the coffee tossing incident, he'll no doubt jump up a few pegs on the suspect list.

Just in case any of you were wondering what Jeana Tomasina was wearing underneath the black dress she wore at the Betty's funeral, the filmmakers wisely chose to set aside a scene that shows her getting undressed. Knowing what she had on underneath her clothes, in my opinion, made the funeral scene even hotter in retrospect. Well, what was she wearing? Oh, I'm sorry. Yeah, it was a white, smooth to the touch, negligee-style one-piece. Weren't you a tad crestfallen over the fact that Jeana wasn't wearing any hosiery whatsoever? I guess. However, if you think about it (which I clearly have), Jeana Tomasina's gorgeousness doesn't really need any sort of structural embellishments. It doesn't matter if you put her in an ugly brown turtleneck or a pair of blue short shorts, Jeana's innate attractiveness will always prevail.

It was only a matter of time before Det. Kessler and Det. McAnn ended up at Mr. Stacy's door wielding the knowledge they obtained for Betty's diary. It would seem, according to her diary, that Warren Stacy made Betty's "skin crawl." Now, is that probable cause? Not really; after all, the world is full of creeps. But Kessler does comes across a vaginal-based masturbation machine in Stacy's bathroom. In other words, I think it's time to bring him in for questioning. Other than the part where Charles Bronson goes nuts trying get a confession out of Stacy, the best part of the interrogation scene was the look on Shawn Schepps' face when Stacy tells Kessler that the two girls he harassed at the movie theatre weren't his type. At the police station to identify Stacy and to verify his alibi, Miss Schepps' Peg, still rocking the flannel-friendly look she wore at the Aero Theatre, seemed genuinely disappointed that the suspect in a series of brutal homicides didn't think she or her foxy friend Tina were his type. The fact that she still held out hope of dating the weird guy she briefly met at a Santa Monica movie theatre was freaking adorable.

With no evidence to hold him on and an air tight alibi, Warren Stacy is free to go. After the way the interrogation went with Leo Kessler, who do you think is going to be the next target of Stacy's unique brand of off-kilter rage? You got it, Laurie Kessler, Leo's leggy daughter. Easing into stalking mode by making some obscene phone calls, Stacy gradually ups the stalking ante. Realizing that it's only a matter of time before Stacy tries to kill his daughter, Detective Kessler decides to bend the law a little bit in order to nail Stacy for the murder of Betty. But his alibi is air tight. Oh, did I say, "bend the law"? What I meant to say is that Kessler straight-up breaks the law in order to nail Stacy for Betty's murder.

The acute legginess of Lisa Eilbacher, while completely ignored during the film's early going, is fully explored over the course of the film's stalking-heavy final third. You could say the film's final third was also "stocking-heavy," as Lisa sports white stockings on several occasions (and why not? it's a vital part of a nurse's uniform), and it looks I just did. At any rate, with Miss Eilbacher's Laurie Kessler forced to lay low with her fellow student nurses (Kelly Preston, Ola Ray, and Iva Lane), this gives us multiple opportunities to appreciate her gams for a number of different angles. My favourite, of course, being the moment where she talks on the phone while wearing nothing but a red football jersey.

Staying with the leggy theme, make sure to keep an eye out for French disco star Jeane Hanson as a Sunset Strip prostitute. Wearing satin hot pants paired with fishnet pantyhose (the way the two garments twinkled in the garish light of the stripe was mind-altering), Jeane gives the cinematic world a lesson on how to properly flaunt your substantial thighs in a public forum. And, if you were to ask me, there's no better forum for showing off your tasty thighs than an early 80s action-crime-thriller starring the totally awesome Gene Davis (Cruising), an actor who somehow managed to get me to sympathize with a psychopathic, Patrick Bateman-esque serial killer with extremely high self-esteem.

Call me crazy, but it was almost as if Charles Bronson's character was some sort of advocate for vigilante justice. And since I thought Stacy was being unjustly punished for a crime he totally committed, Charles and I disagreed quite often over the course of the film. In my mind, the burden of proof rests squarely on the shoulders of the police. I mean, it's not his fault he's a first-rate serial killer with a rock hard ass and an air tight alibi. Yet, despite containing a certain proto-fascism streak, 10 to Midnight is a stylish crime thriller that boasts a killer who not only kills his victims to synthesizer music (keen observers will notice that all of Charles Bronson's scenes are accompanied by bland orchestral music), while in the vicinity of posters of cute animals (the sight of John Travolta's space cadet wife lying disemboweled on the floor underneath a poster of an un-clubbed baby seal was strangely apropos), but does so without any clothes on. And in the grand scheme of things, you can' really ask for more when it comes to attaining sleazy kicks on a Wal-Mart greeter's salary.

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Special thanks to fashion blogger Thomas Duke, the stylish hunk who runs Cinema Gonzo (he's also the primary shareholder in Music Vest), for making the sleazoids at the Indulgence House aware of this heartwarming motion picture. *hugs*

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