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Prom Night

There’s a certain formula you’ve got to follow when remaking a mediocre R-rated 70s/80s horror movie as a PG-13 cinematic abortion for a new generation. Let’s adapt this for a movie about an escaped lunatic hunting prom-going high school students:

You throw in a shitty remake of a Cyndi Lauper song that made you cringe to begin with. Some sensitive emo band whose second ball never dropped should do wonders for that. Those high notes will be a real treat.

You toss in some skanky bitches/fledgling actresses who clearly aren’t meant for close-ups. Make sure one of them’s black, but make sure her boyfriend’s black too. Send said hookers to the beauty parlor (beauty parlor? What am I, 58? Who wants a Werther’s Original?) talking about how they’re going to give up their respective lady flowers to Billy, Chad or Troy.

Get some shots of the prom pictures. Make sure the creepy goth kids are in there. You know, because the goth kids always go to prom—they want so much to fit in. They would never hang out in the graveyard instead! Get drunk on stolen cheap booze from one of their single mothers’ closets? Never! Holding some kind of séance or casting some goofy spell on that cheerleader cow while listening to Dead Can Dance? Bah! And while we’re at it, let’s dismiss the notion of these pasty, misunderstood creatures of the night fucking their boyfriend or girlfriend on a grave while they cut each other and drink their blood after leaving several repugnant hickeys. You can cast that idea right out of your sick, judgmental mind!

But you must not, I repeat must not forget the escaped psycho killer stalking these kids in the unrealistically lavish hotel conveniently located upstairs from where the prom is being held. You do that and we might as well add you to that body count! Somehow the attractive teenagers get locked in the hotel and get picked off one by one. It’s all very nice and next thing you know, you’ve got the theater manager in a headlock until you get your money back.

Next: 88 Minutes
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