Sunday, 30 November 2025

Sleepaway Camp (Robert Hiltzik, 1983)

Cousins Ricky (Jonathan Tiersten) and Angela (Felissa Rose) are dropped off at Camp Arawak for the summer.


Ricky has attended the camp before, but Angela is a newbie, and finds herself ostracised.


While tensions rise between the cousins and the other campers, the staff’s attention is focused on keeping the camp running. 


And then someone dies…



Sleepaway Camp is one of those movies that I had been aware of decades.


I think being aware of the twist stopped me from watching it - what else did this movie have to offer me?


Plenty, it turns out.

 

I have seen some criticism of the cast’s Long Island accents, but I enjoyed the sense of specificity. Specificity, or maybe, singularity, is the operative word.


It might have something to do with the context.


Released in 1983, Sleepaway Camp is a late addition to the first wave of slashers. Clearly modelled after Friday the 13th, the film plays like an auteur-ist take on the genre - taking the familiar tropes and pushing them into strange, new territory that forces you to consider them anew.


There is something so hard to pin down about the tone. 


The film oscillates on an almost scene-by-scene basis (sometimes shot-by-shot) between glaring theatricality (the mother’s asides to herself, Mel’s monologues) and disarming realism (the way the kids interact feels like the filmmakers let them come up with their own dialogue).


Some people would see this as bad filmmaking, but it gives the movie a unique flavour. This is a movie I hope I can see in a theatre one day just so I can gauge an audience’s reaction.


After bingeing so many slashers in the last couple of years, Sleepaway Camp is fascinating.


While it was clearly intended as a super-commercial enterprise, it seems to work against the tropes: Instead of horny teens lusting after each other, we get a pedophile openly lusting at children. The deaths are all bizarre - death by boiling, bee stings and curling iron. And the film’s casting - mostly real adolescents - increases the sense of danger.


Unlike the Friday the 13th movies, which are based around horny twenty-somethings in a mostly empty camp, this story takes place in an active summer camp. 


And the film seems determined to make this environment as threatening as possible. Not only does Angela have to avoid the danger from the camp’s open sex offender, she also has to deal with the attentions of other boys, and the animosity of the girls.


The latter is the most overt flip on a familiar convention: the characters who seem to be powered by libido are the girls: Judy is openly horny, running through the camp’s roster of potential partners with relish, while Meg has her eye on the ancient camp owner, Mel. Meanwhile, both girls despise Angela for a presumed lack of puberty.


The final reveal that Angela is a boy, forced to live as a girl by her aunt, feels like the most explicit version of an intriguing theme that I have noticed in other slashers.


This might be the influence of Psycho, but multiple slasher villains of this era are revealed to be performing multiple gender roles: Terror Train and Night School spring to mind. Even with the original Friday the 13th, it could be argued the film is presenting the killer as a man.


While intended as a shock reveal - offensive in its own right - the ending feels of a piece with the film’s desire to disrupt the viewer’s assumptions about everything they are watching.


What I take away from Sleepaway Camp is a sense of excitement. While I doubt the filmmakers were fully aware of how the film would turn out, the final film feels like the ultimate example of the strange alchemy of filmmaking. In this film, and its reworking of a nascent genre, I see the seeds for new inspiration. Rather than following a formula, or being weighed down by conventions, the world Sleepaway Camp creates seems to be beholden to nothing. Genre here is merely a launching pad, a source of inspiration rather than a checklist to be adhered to.  


The Burning


The Final Terror


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Curse of Chucky (Don Mancini, 2013)

After a Good Guy doll is delivered to the home of disabled woman Nica (Fiona Dourif), her mother and support worker dies in mysterious circumstances.

As the family gather for the wake, Nica becomes suspicious of the doll, and the reason why it has suddenly appeared at her home.

Her investigation into the doll becomes more urgent when her family members begin to die - in increasingly violent ways…


Released direct to video, Curse feels like a break from the previous duology.

That shift from the big screen seems to have empowered the filmmakers. With reduced resources, the film goes back to basics as a straightforward pressure cooker. We get a look-in from Chucky’s better-half but this is just a straightforward horror movie.

Set in an old dark house, the first half of the film is effectively tense. We get a few glimpses but the film keeps Chucky offscreen for as long as possible.

Fiona Dourif (Brad’s daughter) is great in the lead role, and the rest of the cast make for an enjoyable rogues gallery of entitled assholes.

Unlike its predecessors, Curse is bleak. It is a feature rather than a bug here, but one misses the humour and interpersonal dynamics with Chucky.

Instead, he is a true movie monster - appearing out of the darkness to wreck and ruin his victims.

A neat, concise entry that proves the series still has plenty of juice.


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Seed of Chucky (Don Mancini, 2004)

Following the events of the last film, Chucky (Brad Dourif) and Tiffany’s (Jennifer Tilly) child Glen/Glenda (Billy Boyd) is struggling to find their place in society.


When their parents are resurrected, Glen/Glenda finds themselves at odds with their parents, who are determined to find themselves some new human hosts…



I was a little weary of this movie. I remember the reviews being somewhat lukewarm when it came out, and Bride was such a jolt of energy, I was worried it would feel like a step down.

On the one hand this movie is a long way from the Barclay apartment.

On the other, who gives a shit?

This movie is wild.

It benefits from no longer being the latest entry in the franchise. I have not watched the TV series, but it sounds like this entry forms a key part of its foundation.

This is the point in the franchise where any queer subtext becomes text in the most explicit way imaginable.

We start with animated sperm fertilising an egg.

We are then introduced to said baby batter post-oven:

Glen/Glenda, an outcast in a carnival. Boyd is well-cast, giving the character a warmth and empathy that manages to feel heartfelt, rather than the set up to a joke.

After this broad but somewhat earnest opening, we are then introduced to the set of a Chucky movie, which is where the movie folds in on itself.

The Chucky and Tiffany we meet are reanimated from movie animatronics.

Jennifer Tilly is great as both a caricature of her screen persona and Tiffany.

As the latter, she gets some real meat. Following her reunion with her child, Tiffany embraces motherhood as a chance to rehab herself (the gag of her calling the wife of a past victim is hilarious).

This movie might be the ceiling for how far this series could go in eating its own tail - it is not fully successful, but it is so entertaining, it almost pulls it off.

When the franchise returned, it would be in a very different mould.


Related





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NZIFF: Zodiac Killer Project (Charlie Shackleton, 2025)

After his documentary about the Zodiac Killer collapsed, filmmaker Charlie Shackleton decided to turn his camera on the true crime genre itself.


Some years at the film festival I manage to see everything I want to see. There are a bunch of titles that I will get around to.


Between work and volunteering at the festival, my options were limited. Thankfully, this film turned out to be worth it.


When I was in my teen/early twenties, I would periodically binge documentaries about serial killers. Part of the impulse was terror that such people existed in the world. A more mercenary reason was I was looking for ideas for screenplays. 


Over time, this interest declined. 


These stories mostly boil down to weak men picking on people on the outskirts of society. Related to this, the format of the story was always the same - framed through a lens of the killer, turning the victims from human beings into statistics, set pieces in the killer’s story.


This documentary is aware of true crime’s appeal and dances with it, weaving between dissecting the genre while also recreating what his project would have been. 


Every time the in-movie starts to come together, Shackleton pulls the rug out - showing the power of the genre’s conventions while simultaneously critiquing them. 


Winking but never smug, the key to the film’s success is that Shackleton is aware of his own obsession with his failed project, puncturing himself every time it feels like he is lurching toward self-importance. 


A thought-provoking, darkly humorous look at the way we attempt to impose a sense of narrative and meaning onto the human experience, The Zodiac Killer is worth a look.

Related


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Blood and Black Lace (Mario Bava, 1964)

A faceless killer lays siege to the employees of a fashion house.


Blood and Black Lace has probably had the biggest swings in terms of my opinion on it. The first time I watched it, in my early twenties, I was dissatisfied.


I had watched Black Sunday, and had digested a massive tome on Bava’s filmography. I was also primed for the film as the first true giallo.


My expectations were far too high. Blood and Black Lace is a blood-and-thunder thriller. It is not a film with a lot of characterisation or plot. I think I was expecting a little bit more from it.


I only re-watched it again last year. In the in-between, I had watched more giallo and more slashers overall, and gained more of an appreciation for them.


Going back to the beginning, as it were, I was finally able to get on its wavelength.


Blood and Black Lace is a blast. Bava turns the film into surreal showcase of death, and Carlo Rustichelli‘s score brings a sinister frivolity to proceedings.


A movie all about the art of presentation, of being looked at, Blood and Black Lace is a celebration of and takedown of our obsession with beauty.


As with Bava’s previous films, it is also revealed as an illusion - covering the venality, greed and homicidal rage lurking beneath the surface.


Befitting a movie set at a fashion house, the credits present all the characters like mannequins, figures to be presented - and destroyed.


I have read some criticism that sees a disjunct between the villains’ urbane veneer and the violence of the murders. But it seems to be more a case of Bava juxtaposing that surface civility with the savagery of their actions - the epitome of judging a character by what they do rather than what they say.


For a character who is obsessed with accumulation, it tracks that this character would destroy beautiful things if they cannot possess them.


The villain’s blank mask, like the mannequins of the fashion house, is defined by a lack of specificity. Sans a human face, this character is able to act as their true self, rather than maintain a public mask of polite sophistication. 


Related



If you are new to this blog, I also co-host a podcast on James Bond, The James Bond Cocktail Hour

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If you enjoy something I wrote, and want to support my writing, here’s a link for tips!