Sleepaway Camp II: Unhappy Campers (Michael A. Simpson, 1988)

I don't exactly know what the expression "cinematic comfort food" means (nor do I know the meaning of half the words and phrases I bandy about on a regular basis). But I do know that I felt extremely comfortable while fully immersed in the simplistic glow of Sleepaway Camp II: Unhappy Campers, the second film in the super-terrific summer camp set horror series. I think the main reason I felt so at ease in front of this cabin-based slasher was the fact that the killer was a woman. You see, the idea of a man going around slaughtering people in an idyllic setting always seems to rub and tug me the wrong way. It's almost as if his constant need to stab others is a convoluted metaphor for sexual dysfunction. In other words, he can't stab people the proper way, with his penis (or a store-bought alternative), so he has to express his thrusting self in an irregular sort of way. Which, of course, leads to lots of kindly folks getting dispatched with knives and other stab-friendly accoutrements. On the other hand, the sight of a woman acting all atrocious and stuff has a strangely soothing quality about it. Much the same way wide-eyed strippers soothe the souls of tormented disc jockeys. The mild confusion that surrounded the identity of the killer in the first film is nowhere to found in this particular chapter. In that, we know who the killer is right from the get-go. Meaning, the annoyances that come with having to pay attention to plot points and keeping track of countless clues are virtually nonexistent in this film. This dismantling of all artifice and narrative trickery created a stressless environment in which the orderly murder of campers could be enjoyed on a more primitive level.

The nude work of Valerie Hartman as the uninhibited Ally, and, to a lesser extent, Susan Marie Snyder as Mare (an attention junkie who likes to flash her breasts at people), gave the atmosphere of Sleepaway Camp II: Unhappy Campers a distinctly sleazy flavour in the early going. And since the majority of the campers at Rolling Hills Summer Camp seemed a tad too old to be spending the summer at camp, the amount of depraved shame I felt as I inadvertently ogled their jiggly infrastructures was repeatedly rendered negligible.

While Valerie's Ally should have technically been killed first (the killer even points this out), director Michael A. Simpson, in a brilliant move, decided to keep the bawdy scamp alive. Just think how less cool this film would have been had she expired at the beginning. The prospect of not seeing her receive an aggressive tonguing from a cunnilingual master (he was actually quite bad at it) in a washroom stall, sport a wetter than normal t-shirt, straddle a piece of man-candy in a forested local (her post-coital verbiage was inspired), and acting overly confident while chitchatting topless would have a been a major tragedy.

I wasn't joking about being at ease with a female serial killer, especially when they kill with a gentle grace. However, it should be said that the bulk of this ease is made possible thanks to the wonderfully insane performance by Pamela Springsteen as Angela, a strict, yet cheerful camp counselor. I was in love the moment she wacked that unruly camper in the face with a log and casually removed her tongue.

Turning the normally repugnant act of murder into an act of pure impishness, Miss Springsteen giddily kills whoever happens to be irritating her at the moment with a chilling nonchalance. The fact that none of the people she is about to stab, choke, immolate, slice, bludgeon, drill (yeah, she's a driller), or drown in fecal-tinged water are aware they're about to be murdered added to the unpleasantness.

I mean, who's gonna be afraid of a comely woman in a light blue t-shirt and beige shorts who sings songs that promote camping for a living? That being said, the sheer kookiness that Pamela brought to the proceedings should not be discounted, as each death is made oddly comical by the alluring actress. I adored the way she smiled while committing heinous crimes against her fellow campers; it was so genial of her.

It's this off-kilter lightheadedness that makes Sleepaway Camp II: Unhappy Campers the unique delight that it is. Of course, having Renée Estevez (Heathers) acting all shy and demure was a factor as well. At any rate, with a straightforward plot, gory murders (not too graphic, though), and a loopy killer, I declare this sequel to be a resounding success.

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