"The Cheerleader Massacre"

Kill Count
That Sunovabitch McPherson: 0
His Buddy: 7

Review By: Giggles

Editor's note: Apparently, this was supposed to be another installment in the Slumber Party Massacre series, but the powers that be decided to nix the idea. We were under the impression that this was indeed a sequel and Giggles mentioned it a couple of times in the review. While reading the review, please note that we only found out recently that Cheerleader Massacre is not part of the series.

Oh what to say, what to say... I guess I should make it clear that none of us at YMR had seen any of the previous Massacre movies, being they Slumber party or otherwise, and shame on us for that. Perhaps this review will be slighted because I'm unfamiliar with the other films in the series, but I seriously doubt that it makes a whole lot of difference. I hope for our sakes at YMR, the other three in the series will be worth while because we're going to watch them all.

The story makeup works this way: A van chock-full of cheerleaders breaks down in the mountains during a manhunt for a murderer known as Jeremiah McPherson, who evidently is the resident slasher of the series. After the breakdown they head to a cabin (good, it's too snowy to shed their clothes outside) and are picked off one by one. These types of horror movie plots remind me of my feelings on lemon and lime sweet-tarts; there are lots and lots of them in the pack, and though I do eat them just like the rest, they're only just-palattable compared to the others.

Hey look everyone, there's trees in this picture!

The point, moral, or theme this type of filmmaking tries to convey is thus:
Make sure to show the boobs--- make sure they're centered on the screen, and if you can squeeze some ass in there, fine, but make sure that the hinder doesn't hog all the screen time because the breasts are impatiently waiting for their next entrance.

This chick happens to be a detective assigned to the McPherson case. It also happens that she bares a striking resemblance to Anthony Kiedis in drag. How does Flea deal with this kind of behavior, I wonder?

To the left is the cheerleaders' teacher and coach. Boy, I guess she got her degree and credential right out of high school because she looks the age of her students.

Oh yeah, and to the right, is some guy. I can't seem to remember what his name is--- You know what? To hell with that damn guy. He's taking 50% too much screen space up there.

Two of the cheerleader giggle incessantly as a ghost story is unraveled to them. The bizarre thing about the story was that it was actually more horrible than the movie it was being voiced thru. Pretty esoteric? Perhaps, but look at that girl's hanging fruit, why dontcha!

They just don't make teachers like this anymore.

Was the second picture redundant? Funny, I didn't notice.

The killer, who we at YMR affectionately call "That Son of a Bitch McPherson," has sought revenge on this Eric Clapton-looking man above. It seems that this man is sole reason behind McPherson's institutionalization, and he has the gimpy leg to prove it.

Okay, he doesn't much look like Eric Clapton in this shot, but maybe an old Steve Reeves: Hercules in a windbreaker. I will give this character some credit though. By the end of the movie, he has had the shit thoroughly knocked out of him.

That Son of a Bitch McPherson shows up in his denim jeans and black sweater. Who needs hockey masks and dirty brown hats when you have grumpy middle-aged men with shotguns? It turns out that there is a mystery to his killing spree this time around... he might have a partner!

McPherson looks like he had a little snippet of the family moonshine before he went out a'killin'.

Meanwhile, we have a romantical bunch of butterheads doing their best to keep up with the sexual trends that these movies were founded on.

Buzzy. Yeah, that's this guy's name. Not like it makes much difference because we see a suspended axe walking up behind him, raising up into the night air, and then coming down. And in the next shot we have...

Taa-daa! A splash of very 1970ish looking blood. The red paint variety that you saw in movies like the original Dawn of the Dead and Christopher Lee Dracula movies. I don't understand here though why the bloodsplat seems so perfectly linear. How could a head wound produce a pillar of blood like this? Help out here people, I need to know.

The romance hasn't let up on the interior of the cabin. This girl has the body fat of a broomstick. She looks like that dog in the prison on Pirates of the Caribbean."Here boy, (whistle, whistle)."

Canines are prone to lick.

Poor Buzzy. We never really knew him. I kind of like him better now he's only a sanguine puddle in the snow with a hatchet draped across him. Kind of.

This is not the same scene, but a sequel to it. Remarkably, this woman is STILL taking a shower. Give me a minute and I'll start complaining about it. Wait, no. Gimme five minutes.

I wonder if that thong is OSHA approved? We don't want her slipping in that tub.

Look how clean that tile is? No mildew there.

Here we have one of the original stars of the first installment, The Slumber party Massacre. This part of the movie really horrified me. It was difficult to watch this woman without becoming morbidly intrigued by her hideous features. It's as if they sucked the essence out of an attractive woman and left behind a minion of Baal.

Zena, warrior princess had a daughter.

A very, very, haggardly old daughter.

Things get frantic and all out panicky when the party of Double-Ds hear a knock at their door...

This begs the question: What's the point in knocking? One can only postulate that this young man, now eight pounds lighter, has politely approached the house to ask if anyone has seen his car keys. For some reason, he can't remember what he's done with them.

Now I see three concerned expressions, but what's with the boobiful little cherub pressed into the doorway on the left? She looks to be checking floor tiles or watching a spider race across the porch.

As we approach the climax (hip-hip-hooray!) everybody enters the typical fight-or-flight madness. This guy above practically loses every faculty he has, yelling that they need to collect knives, axes, spoons, clubs, guns, nuclear warheads, and ajax to build a front of protection. None of the women listen to him however--- ah typical, us guys coming up with good, sound plans, just to be ignored--- they instead run their asses upstairs, colliding with each other on the way up.

The girl on the right can keep one lazy eye out for McPherson, son of a bitch that he is.

I guess the bottom line with this movie is centered in your expectations for these sorts of movies. The gore and the killing moves are really lackluster and dated attempts, nothing new in the least. But if you want lots and lots and whole lots of double-barreled nipple attack to assault your eyes, then you've come to the right place, mis amigos.