Death of a Cheerleader

 
It’s a rare Oscar winner that would follow and Academy awarded screenplay with a blood-soaked horror movie set in high school, but the prom queen of 2008’s Sundance did just that with Jennifer’s Body. Written by Juno scribe Diablo Cody and directed by Girlfight’s Karyn Kasuma, this bouncy pseudo horror has a refreshingly high dose of estrogen behind its production. 


That doesn't make it a particularly good (certainly not well directed) film, but despite the late-nite cable title, retro 80s poster art dying to make messy backseat love to a VHS (above, and I actually really dig it), and the abundance of near-nude Megan Fox skin, it's important to note that Jennifer's Body does try a few new things in marrying snappy high school humor with  a throwback horror style. 

Quick Plot: Despite their differences, mousey Needy (Amanda Seyfried) and hot cadet squad captain Jennifer (Megan Fox) remain lifelong BFFs, as proven by their matching heart necklaces. While Needy would prefer a quiet night in with her pet ferret or sweet boyfriend (you know he’s a catch because he went to Super Target to buy the spiral textured condoms so “it feels good for girls”), she agrees to accompany Jennifer to the local bar to see the hot new band from “the city” (which, from Long Island to the Alaska, is like, so the way suburban kids describe the nearest metropolis). Jennifer flirts her way into the sights of the lead singer (a hilarious Adam Brody) who in turn consults his drummer about the possible sexual history/non-history of the underage goupie-to-be. Offended, Needy dishonestly defends her friend’s honor before a fatal fire destroys the bar and makes extra crispy meat of most of its inhabitants. A shocked Jennifer ends up in the back of the band’s van, only to later show up in Needy’s kitchen with an appetite for Boston Market and an erupting blackened bloody wound in her chest. 

The next day, students and faculty mourn the town’s tragedy while Jennifer acts like a bitchy hot girl who craves the flesh of teenaged boys. And since she is cadet squad captain, she totally gets it. (Side note: once online for a roller coaster at Great Adventure, I overheard this pearly gem from a young blonde on a school trip: "I'm a cheerleader. That means I can do whatever the hell I want." Jennifer's Body comes extremely close to using this exact line).

Like a lot of current horror, Jennifer’s Body seemed to take some fan backlash when its very concept was announced. Diablo Cody’s style is pretty polarizing, and early trailers made the film look like 90 minutes of Fox teasing audiences with near nudity and sapphic innuendo. While the film is no masterpiece or milestone in the horror genre, it is an energetically enjoyable flick ripe for a Sunday afternoon viewing, sort of like a younger Drag Me To Hell with a little more Whedonesque puns tossed in. Amanda Seyfried proves that whether she’s slaying demons or singing to ABBA, she’s an incredibly likable and interesting onscreen presence (even if her “geek” look of flat hair and thick glasses is less believable than Rachael Lee Cook’s makeover in She’s All That). Megan Fox finds the right beats to prove herself more than capable of having fun with the kind of role she was born to play. Cody’s script is far less stylized than the every-line’s-a-pop-culture-quip of Juno, although a few dialogue duds land here and there. Still, the script is generally good fun without being forced.

But is it a good horror movie? Well, not in the scary sense, but that doesn’t mean Jennifer’s Body doesn’t fit its genre. This doesn’t come near the brilliance of something like Scream (which combined self-aware teenagedom with actual suspense in a way that’s hard to rival) but there’s a lot to enjoy, from the complex yet believable relationship between two mismatched best friends to the gleefully macabre humor around the world’s most satanically ambitious indie band since Black Roses. As far as actual fear factor goes, Jennifer’s Body is far more concerned with keeping its audience chuckling than inspiring nightmares, but those chuckles are sometimes quite nasty (and I mean that in the nicest way). It won't give you nightmares, but it will make you smile.

High Points

Neither gets much to do, but it’s still a treat to see Amy Sedaris and J.K. Simmons turning in shining little performances, plus an extra special cameo by one very genre friendly actor in the final scene

The actual sacrifice scene is filled with maniacally black humor 

Both Jennifer and Needy’s choice in promwear is gloriously horrendous. Whether this was an homage to the film’s 80s spirit or a comment on the misguided fashion sense of small town middle America, I like it

Low Points

Despite all the the cheer for the R-Rating, there’s nothing overwhelming or envelope pushing regarding the sex or violence

For all its buildup to the two climaxes, the finale(s) feel underwhelming and rushed. While we can laugh along with Jennifer and are certainly pulling for Seyfried's Needy, director Kasuma does not seem to have any control in building actual cinematic suspense

Lessons Learned

Small towns have bars; cool cities have clubs

Never chide a violent prison inmate for her dietary choices

Murderers of cheerleaders get a lot of fan mail


High school sex smells like Thai food

Bands that aspire to be Maroon 5 are never up to any good

See/Skip/Sneak In

I had a great time watching this movie, and only part of that came from the two 22 ounce glasses of pumpkin beer consumed one hour before showtime. That being said, there is definitely a segment of theatrical audiences--possibly a lot that are male--that will naturally have an aversion to mixing Mean Girls with demonic possession in a manner that tries a little too hard to wear its own cred in a too obvious (and acknowledged) placement of an Evil Dead t-shirt. This isn't the film anyone has been sacrificing puppies to see on the big screen, but it's a fun enough way to spend 90 minutes and a few months from now when it hits DVD, I can actually see some of the laughs landing more effectively. The fact that it seemed to bomb with theatrical audiences is something of a bummer; this isn't a new classic, but it's certainly more deserving of attention than something as trite and uninspired as Friday the 13th Part 12. 


Sigh. It always comes back to that for me, doesn't it.

Kumbay-Killer, Retro Style

Return To Sleepaway Camp is made for one audience and one audience only: nostalgic and forgiving fans of the 1983 original. Like that odd little horror and its cheerfully bad sequels, this 2008 entry has no real scares or intentionally witty humor. This is a cheap and affectionate homage to an infamous--if not especially good--low budget semi-classic of yore.


Quick Plot: Welcome to Camp Manadake, a summer getaway for incredibly obnoxious teenagers and run by mostly child-hating counselors. Our (cough cough) protagonist is husky frog-friending Alan, an understandably outcasted camper who is basically the boy that wouldn’t take a shower from Wet Hot American Summer, all awkwardly grown up. Poor Alan huffs his way through seemingly unsupervised days of croquet as slowly---verrrrrrrry slowly---some of his tormentors are killed through Saw-lite methods of murder. Camp director Vincent Pastore (his acting improving only an appetizer’s portion of antipasto since Black Roses) and junior partner Paul DeAngelo (whose thespian powers have been frozen in the 80s) fret about lost camp tuition and the possible return of Angela Baker, the transgendered murderess who wields a mean curling iron and even meaner guitar.

This is a movie that brewed in production purgatory for some time, and while it’s nice to have a genuine throwback horror, Return To Sleepaway Camp is also a reminder as to why some films die quick deaths (unlike the cast members, who suffer prolonged and elaborate torture that take too long to get to and even longer to end). From the nasty characters to the juvenile jokes, there’s simply too much to dislike in RtSC to really enjoy it. The spirit is admirable; the experience is not.


High Points
The nods to earlier films are gleefully deliberate (The Return of Ronnie’s Short Shorts!) and perhaps serendipitously accidental, like the police chief’s prosthetic nose and its resemblence to Part 1’s magic marker mustache

Because you don’t like one single character, rooting for all their deaths is quite easy


Low Points
Because you don’t like one single character, sitting through their dialogue is painful

Yes, it’s cute to have Isaac Hayes play a chef named Chef, but is that the end of the joke?


With few exceptions, every death takes about six times as long as it should. There’s no reason for this film to be 100+ minutes. But it is. And it feels like eternity.

Lessons Learned
Organized paintball has the potential to be amazinglly awesome. Can I watch that movie instead?


Rats chew fast


It’s really hard to get kicked out of camp nowadays

Rent/Bury/Buy
If you haven’t seen or never cared for the Sleepaway Camp franchise, avoid this film like a campfire sing-a-long. It’s simply not good. Loyal fans of Angela’s zany adventures will definitely want to check out the newest generation and many may find it to be fun. It’s goofy and stupid--just like Parts I-III. Enter at your own risk.


Despite my valiant efforts (okay, two rounds of Googling) I failed to find an adequate picture of DeAngelo's gams or 1983's artificial mustache. However, since Amityville II's review birthed quite the 'stache admiration society, I figured I'd include a nod to my personal favorite finely crafted whiskers of the 80s:

Keith almost makes me want to embrace a caterpillar. Almost.

The Devil Wears Gym Shorts

I don't know how to say this, so I'm just going to throw it out: Fear No Evil boasts not one but two of the greatest kills ever put on screen.


I'm lying:


One of the greatest kills and THE best absurd trigger for teenage suicide. Ever.


If you don't believe me, then clearly one of the following statements is true:


1) You've never questioned the ethics of high school dodgeball.
2) You are thoroughly fascinated and possibly a tad titillated by male breasts.


Aaah, Fear No Evil, a 1981 homoerotic Omen-inspired teen thriller I learned about via Kim Newman's excellent cinematic study, Nightmare Movies. This is the kind of earnestly made indie smart enough to know that an ambitious low budget horror should combine proven formula, a unique spin, and talent. Fear No Evil doesn't have a lot of any, but somehow, there's enough creativity and simple bizarreness to make it work by amusement, if not terror.

The antichrist is gayer than South Park's Satan, the school bully's most badass move is to spin his history teacher's globe and an old priest that resembles Malcolm McDowell's hobbitized cousin can outrun Lucifer while stumbling with a scythe and bad knee. Do you really need to know any more?


Quick Plot: Somewhere in the depths of upstate New York, baby Andrew's baptism erupts into a splattering (yet apparently harmless) bloodbath, leaving his parents to spend all of 45 seconds worth of voiceover bickering and demonstrating their 18 years of marital strife. 

Now a moody teen with Chuck Bass's cheekbones and a talent for making heavy objects fall non-fatally on older women's heads, Andrew has accepted his status as the human incarnation of Lucifer with little qualms or instruction. Meanwhile, a gleefully ridiculous collection of high school stereotypes perform what seems to be a non-musical adaptation of Grease! and a dull angel hopes to stop Andrew from ruining the town's annual beach pageant of an Easter Passion Play. Oh yeah. And there are zombies. Kinda.

Let's be clear: Fear No Evil is not a good film. The acting ranges from blankly empty to bigger than Nicolas Cage's burning Wicker Man shouting. Plotlines die quieter deaths than a 21st century Meg Ryan movie and the final special effect looks like the Hall of Fame background on an 80s arcade game.


So no, it's not good, but it's a helluva lot more fun than Casablanca and more rewatchable than The Omen. You won't find Gregory Peck wearing Frank N Furter's hotpants or an Italian Stalliony bully picking on the antichrist by kissing him in the shower during gym class, now will you.

High Points
There's no groundbreaking story here, but I'll give writer/director Frank LaLoggia credit for not connecting what could be cliche plot dots to tell the same old tale


I don't want to know what body parts the producers sold to get some actual good--albeit at times, too literal to the onscreen action--songs like the Talking Heads' Psycho Killer


Death. By. Dodgeball.

Low Points
While I wouldn't dream of losing dad's "My son's THE DEVIL!" pub tirade, it's frustrating that he has no real resolution

Having reincarnated angels is interesting enough, but good girl Hulie lacks any of the weird (okay, cheesy) energy of the rest of the film


Does Andrew want to be Lucifer? Would he choose a different life? Is there any internal strife going on there? Based on the script and lead performance, I have absolutely no idea.

Lessons Learned
Like many an acting gig, playing Jesus Christ has its highs (adoration from the town children) and lows (crucifixion)

Smoking pot does not make your breasts grow, but slipping the tongue to Satan's son will


Upstate NY bullies have very unrealistic definitions of small breasts


Do not assign the antichrist 50 pushups unless you're really good at dodgeball

Stray Observations
The Rhea Perlmen-esque leader of the Pink Ladies--I mean B's--wears a knit beret and peacock feather that prove for a fourth time that Season 5's Kenley really wasn't that original.


I've managed to cite Gossip Girl and Project Runway in this review, proving, in fact, that I am female. Or maybe I'm just a man who's made out with Lucifer a few too many times

Rent/Bury/Buy
My enthusiasm seems to point you towards a buy, but that's really reserved for those fans that treasure lovably bad horror. In terms of actual quality, I'd rank Fear No Evil somewhere above Sleepaway Camp and well, Black Roses. Those with a low tolerance for lactose should probably take a straight shot of The Omen II and move on, while for casual old school horror fans, a rental should suffice. The DVD includes some behind-the-scenes footage and commentary by cinematographer and writer/director Frank LaLoggia, who offers some enlightening editing info that somewhat justifies the inclusion of misplaced zombies. This isn't the worst or best bad movie of all time, but I don't know of any others that dispose of school bullies and nagging mothers with such ridiculous creativity.

Rock & Roll To Steal Your Soul

List of Things to Do Before I Die:


-Read Ulysses
-Catch a foul ball at CitiField
-Beat Zombies Ate My Neighbors on Super Nintendo

-Host a film party featuring a double showing of Hard Rock Zombies and Black Roses


Black Roses is not a good film, nor does it qualify as a so-bad-it's good stinker. In the cheerfully wide catalogue of 80s horror, Black Roses represents an average 90 minutes of decent rock, poor acting, and monsters that rotate between looking evil and resembling poor man's Muppets. Yes, it does mark the dubious film debut of Vincent Pastore, but worse crimes have been committed. If Hard Rock Zombies is a bowl of melted cheddar, Black Roses is the the liquid nacho topping that shoots out ingredients you can't pronounce onto your salty movie theater tortilla chips. It's always edible, but never quite delicious.


Quick Plot: A sleepy midwestern town is visited by the country's biggest metal band, Black Roses. The school board is mildly miffed by the offensiveness of hard rock but allow the band to play a few shows for the enjoyment of the very white teenage population. After the opening night performance, one lone high school teacher notices his students committing acts of violence and (gasp!) wearing muted colors to class. The only possible explanation would be that Black Roses are agents of Satan (or maybe Satan himself; it's unclear) set to collect the souls of America's youth, one Footloose-y town at a time.

Black Roses isn't quite as much fun as it sounds, but it has its moments. As Damien, the kooshball headed lead singer, Sal Vivianno fares somewhat better than the soft-spoken Jessie of Hard Rock Zombies, but demony puppets and killer turntables don't quite match cannibal Nazi dwarves in entertainment value. Lead actor John Martin has a decent presence, but none of the kids make strong enough impressions for us to really care about their fates. So ultimately, there's nothing mind or ear-blowing about Black Roses, except...well...it's a 1988 horror about a demonic hair metal band.


High Points
The variety of monster puppets shows some ingenuity, particularly in the opening scene music video

Props to actor John Martin, who manages to pull off the role of an overly caring high school teacher with female fans and a porno mustache without coming off as overly creepy

Low Points
Did the high school band perform the elaborate and not very appropriate score?


The final heroic pun is barely audible, which would make Buffy the Vampire Slayer shake her ponytail in shame


How does one set a climax at a rock concert and not end with a stage dive?

Lessons Learned
Underage breasts are quite versatile and inconsistently sized in small towns


In the 1980s, any girl named Tina was a slut


Tennis rackets, when used correctly, make excellent tools for demon bashing


Rent/Bury/Buy
There's something about these 80s high school horror flicks that's hard to resist, and Black Roses is certainly likable in its cheesiness. Under no definition is this a scary movie, but there's a lot of low budget heart to keep it watchable. A small selection of extras includes a compilation of Damien auditions, which surprisingly reveal that Vivianno may have been the best casting choice (at least from the drudge of a pool amassed in that collection). An affectionate audio commentary by director John Fasano, screenwriter Cindy Cirile, and their teenage children is joyfully humble and good-natured, but the overall rewatchability of Black Roses isn't quite as high as you would think. A rental should suffice.