Curtains (Richard Ciupka, 1983)

There are those in the acting world who like to amplify their profession's importance by utilizing words like "craft" and "method" when describing what they do for living to easily impressed lollygaggers. However, as most people know by now, acting is simply memorization, enunciation, and a whole lot of make belief; everything else is just unnecessary globs of thick gravy pored over a gelatinous mire of self-importance. Now, the realm of advanced acting and the lowly slasher flick may seem at odds with one another (serious thespians and masked killers rarely attend the same social functions). But somehow they cross paths in the wintery Curtains, a little known Canadian horror gem from the early 1980s. Theories about the title's meaning will no doubt dance through a great number of heads early-on, as it is an unusual moniker for a horror film. I figured it was about the obvious, a psychotic nutcase who wraps up his or her victims in clumps of unfitted window coverings after they've murdered them (the killer's parents own a drapery shop on the outskirts of Wawa). Then I had this strange idea that the film was about female genitalia. Of course, I was wrong on all accounts (well, to be fair, my second theory is sort of on the money, as the film does have a slight vaginal flavour at times), the word "curtains" is a euphemism for death and also pertains to the end of a theatrical play. In other words, it's the perfect name for this particular endeavour, which involves Jonathan Stryker, a pompous director played by John Vernon (Savage Streets), auditioning five actresses for the lead in his latest film at his palatial home out in the wilds of Northern Ontario.

The film in question is called Audra (a melodrama about a demented woman presumably named Audra) and was expected to star Samantha Sherwood (Samantha Eggar) a veteran actress of stage and screen. It's obvious she's not gonna be the star because Stryker has left her to languish in a mental asylum (she committed herself for research purposes), and has begun looking for other actresses to fill the prestigious role (yeah, he's a bit of a dick).

Things get a little prickly for the sleazy director when the scorned actress escapes and shows up at the audition with a huge "what the fuck" expression on her face. How will the director contend with six actresses from varied backgrounds at an isolated house in the middle of somewhere? I'm no expert, but I think someone is gonna get stabbed, or worse, prodded violently with a sharp object.

The first half of the film involves Samatha Eggar's stay at the psychiatric hospital (a place where strait-jackets and lobotomies are still on the menu). Leggy, sophisticated, slightly English (the clop of her high heels on the crude Canadian concrete sent a clear message to the hoards of unworthy suitors who dared to look at her with horny intentions), Miss Eggar does a tremendous job at portraying an over privileged actress thrust into an undignified situation.

The middle focuses on a seventh actress who doesn't quite make to the audition. Sporting a football jersey (#88) and a mane of freshly combed hair, Deborah Burgess dreams about finding creepy dolls at the side of the road, enjoys acting out rape fantasies with her boyfriend, taking bubble bathes that expose her well-shaped knees, and is the first to see the dreaded mask of the killer. Which, I must say, is one of the most unpleasant looking masks I've seen worn for killing and stalking purposes. Everything after this takes place at the house in the woods.

The six actresses are getting a feel for one another (you know, exchanging pleasantries and making subtle threats), when all of the sudden, the director asks Christie Burns, the youngest out of the six, if she brought her skates. This question seemed odd, but I didn't really pay much attention to it. That is until Burns herself asks, "Has anyone seen my skates?" That's when I knew something was up. Donning a white toque and carrying a boombox, Lesleh Donaldson stumbles through the snowy forest on her way to do some skating on a frozen pond. Thus, the stage is set for one of the most memorable encounters in slasher movie history.

The sound of a crow cawing, Burton Cummings' "You Saved My Soul," and blades on ice are all were hear until the music stops and a doll with outstretched arms is found buried in the snow. What happens next is pretty sweet. I think the mask (with its wrinkled skin and flowing locks of blonde hair), the grunting sound that accompanied each slicing motion, and the fact the killer is wielding a scythe (a menacing looking weapon) are the main reasons this scene so great. Also, the pristine setting, the sunny skies, and well executed direction are a factor as well.

It's hard to top the brilliance of the ice skating sequence, but Curtains diligently soldiers on. With the exception of Miss Eggars, most of the actresses playing the other actresses are Toronto born, and the one that stood out for me was Lynne Griffin. Best known as the gal whose spent most of Black Christmas in the attic wrapped plastic (and as Bob's girlfriend in Strange Brew), the charming actress plays Patti O'Conner, the so-called "funny one" of the group, and gave the film an unexpected frothiness with her nervous wisecracks and a strange Queen Street West style edge when it came to dealing with intimidating Jonathan Stryker.

In addition, the nightie-based legginess of the elegant Linda Thorson (The Avengers) when she discovers a severed head in her toilet and the extended stalking sequence in the prop house are also worth singling out.

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