Review: Sorority House Massacre (1986)
Directed by: Carol Frank
Starring: Angela O'Neill, Wendy Martel, Pamela Ross
Written by: Carol Frank
Music by: Michael Wetherwax
Country: United States
Not currently available on physical media
IMDb
Writer/director Carol Frank worked as an assistant director on 1982’s The Slumber Party Massacre — the slightly better known of these two slashers about a dopey nobody asshole killing women at a sexy sleepover. Afterwards, Roger Corman set her loose to do whatever she wanted on her own flick, and she concocted Sorority House Massacre, focused on a Greek sister with amnesia who’s having visions of a familiar-yet-unplaceable man getting his stabs on.
The two movies are similar in a lot of superficial ways that could aptly describe two-thirds of the horror joints released in the first half of the ‘80s, but they’re also both women-driven horror flicks made at a time when that was not a common thing. What was a common thing at the time was ripping off Halloween, which this definitely does. But Frank infuses just enough of her own flair, through a series of dream sequences that include a faux-scare every 45 seconds; a cast of pretty likable gals and guys; and some kind of artless but impressively matter-of-fact kills that carry the bone-snapping, flesh-piercing weight of actual blunt force trauma.
Like The Slumber Party Massacre, Final Exam (1981), and a few other flicks from this era, Sorority House Massacre opts for a killer who’s just an angry penis with a pokey-poke of some sort. There’s no creepy mask or memorable garb, just paunch, feathery brunette curls, whatever comfy clothes were nearby, and a good pair of walking (never running) shoes. We never fully see the murderer’s face, but you just know he looks like someone named Ted or Bruce or Matt. Frank misses some opportunity to leverage her generic killer for astute commentary on the decade’s misogyny, but it’s all kind of in line with this film’s very modest aim of entertaining you, but not too much.
But where Frank really succeeds is in including perhaps the most shamelessly pandering scene of carefree ‘80s ladies flashing boobs while playing dress-up. They’re frivolously tossing clothes through the air, they’re incessantly giggling at nothing funny, they’re bouncing in excitement for sufficient flesh jiggle, and their bangs are moving to some really shitty rock song. It’s so stupid and so contrived, but it feels oddly inspired — sort of like the overly gratuitous shower scene that opens the movie I’ve mentioned like a dozen times already. This is a breezy, modestly entertaining slasher that I’d watch over at least half of the shit released around the same time, yet may never watch again.
Overall rating: 6 out of 10
