Crime in the Past: Some years ago, Dickie Cavanaugh. a "young, semi-illiterate American" attending Dewitt University, lost his mind in the middle of a hell week ritual out in the woods surrounding the campus. He was never the same. That's one way the kids tell it. The other, factual version is that Dickie Cavanaugh was a misogynistic asshole who murdered his girlfriend during the yearly scavenger hunt because she dumped him to start dating other guys, perhaps those who would most probably refrain from murdering their girlfriends after any perceived slight to their virile masculinity. Poor, pitiable Dickie: a victim the daily horrors of being a college-educated white male in American society! Sigh. So, anyway, after murdering his ex, Dickie is carted away to a mental asylum, where he lives for many years before finally hanging himself in his padded cell. Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.
Bodycount: 8 (possibly 9?) "typical victims of a society gone berserk" have their internal organs fatally scavenged.
Themes/Moral Code: A simple thesis: women drive men violently crazy by jumping from one bed to the next. Almost every one of the film's college-aged women is either actively cheating on her boyfriend or considering it, and this is labeled by the film's moral code as A Terrible Thing. And of course there's a double standard: Mike Pryor's (David Holbrook) girlfriend cheats on him with her second cousin and we're encouraged to gag; Teddy (James Carroll) cheats on his girlfriend with Dawn (Suzanne Barnes), a girl a little bit higher on the social ladder, and we're supposed to congratulate him. (Although, conversely, we're also encouraged to condemn Dawn, who has callously cheated on her own boyfriend in order to make this pairing possible.) The notion being expressed here is that women are the property of men, to do with as they please. Adulterous behavior is permissible for the latter, but never for the objectified former. For the women of the film to express a masculine sexual freedom in their actions marks them for punishment. Enter sexually liberated women, pursued by killer in bear costume.
Whether or not we're supposed to be critical of the misogynistic cultural values expressed within the film probably never crossed the filmmakers' minds, but that doesn't mean there isn't enough here to get us questioning the status quo. Despite it's bizarre amount of sympathy for the "wronged" Mike Pryor, we can't help but see him as the abusive, violent asshole he is, even if he's innocent of his girlfriend's murder. Similarly, we wonder why such a big fuss is made over Maniac's (Mart McChesney) girlfriend dumping him, especially in consideration of his obviously repressed homosexual feelings for Teddy. (Shirtless male-only bedroom parties and Village People BDSM couples costumes should be an indication of something pertinent in the two men's relationship.) Must she remain his property even if he's uninterested in her sexually?
Finally, we're especially forced to consider (and perhaps criticize) the complicity of certain female characters in perpetuating these beliefs of male superiority. When one female character walking across the quad is told by a creepy male character that "girls shouldn't be out at night alone," to which she chirps in agreement, we feel disappointed. Can't a Girl just have a pleasant Nite Out without getting slashed to ribbons? And when we discover the identity of the killer and her motives, which essentially boil down to hero worship of the male sex, we feel grossed out by the terrible psychological influence that the androcentric values of her culture have had on her and others. Our villain may be acting as a self-defined "moral authority," but, considering the general likability of her liberated victims, her morals seem grotesque and draconian from our perspective.
Whether or not we're supposed to be critical of the misogynistic cultural values expressed within the film probably never crossed the filmmakers' minds, but that doesn't mean there isn't enough here to get us questioning the status quo. Despite it's bizarre amount of sympathy for the "wronged" Mike Pryor, we can't help but see him as the abusive, violent asshole he is, even if he's innocent of his girlfriend's murder. Similarly, we wonder why such a big fuss is made over Maniac's (Mart McChesney) girlfriend dumping him, especially in consideration of his obviously repressed homosexual feelings for Teddy. (Shirtless male-only bedroom parties and Village People BDSM couples costumes should be an indication of something pertinent in the two men's relationship.) Must she remain his property even if he's uninterested in her sexually?
Finally, we're especially forced to consider (and perhaps criticize) the complicity of certain female characters in perpetuating these beliefs of male superiority. When one female character walking across the quad is told by a creepy male character that "girls shouldn't be out at night alone," to which she chirps in agreement, we feel disappointed. Can't a Girl just have a pleasant Nite Out without getting slashed to ribbons? And when we discover the identity of the killer and her motives, which essentially boil down to hero worship of the male sex, we feel grossed out by the terrible psychological influence that the androcentric values of her culture have had on her and others. Our villain may be acting as a self-defined "moral authority," but, considering the general likability of her liberated victims, her morals seem grotesque and draconian from our perspective.
Killer's Motivation: The killer is Barney (Rutanya Alda), a flirty middle-aged waitress at the on-campus diner who also sometimes goes by the name Katie Cavanaugh, identifying her as the impossible identical female twin (!!) of convicted campus murderer Dickie Cavanaugh. After Dickie's suicide, Katie snaps, kidnapping his body to preserve in the diner's walk-in freezer and embarking on a bloody scavenger hunt of revenge against those "sluts" and "whores" who ruined her poor brother's life by cheating on him and driving him to the mad house. Her acts of revenge conflate all young women with Dickie's ex and blame the inconstancy of certain women for the culturally ingrained violent misogyny of men. We also discover that Dickie is innocent of the crime he was committed for; it turns out that it was actually Katie who took it upon herself to teach Dickie's ex a fatal lesson in female subordination way back when.
Besides all this weirdness, the most interesting characteristic about Girl Nite Out's killer is her iconic costume. A mop-haired b-ball bear mascot with a protruding felt tongue and Freddy Kreuger-ish retractable claws might seem an odd choice for producing a menacing sight, but it's all quite effective in action. Moreover, the costume is an appropriate fit for the killer considering its prior context within the film and her ultimate aspirations. The costume formerly belonged to Benson, the campus's resident sleazy ladies' man, and we see him early on in costume groping and harassing various young women. By killing Benson and swiping his costume, Katie is able to do a bit of gender bending by inhabiting the role and outward appearance of the film's sex-crazed male. The fact that she uses this costume associated with the sexual harassment and objectification of women for the new purpose of doing physical violence to women demonstrates the frighteningly fine line separating these behaviors. Chalk another one up for "probably unintentional criticism of cultural values."
Besides all this weirdness, the most interesting characteristic about Girl Nite Out's killer is her iconic costume. A mop-haired b-ball bear mascot with a protruding felt tongue and Freddy Kreuger-ish retractable claws might seem an odd choice for producing a menacing sight, but it's all quite effective in action. Moreover, the costume is an appropriate fit for the killer considering its prior context within the film and her ultimate aspirations. The costume formerly belonged to Benson, the campus's resident sleazy ladies' man, and we see him early on in costume groping and harassing various young women. By killing Benson and swiping his costume, Katie is able to do a bit of gender bending by inhabiting the role and outward appearance of the film's sex-crazed male. The fact that she uses this costume associated with the sexual harassment and objectification of women for the new purpose of doing physical violence to women demonstrates the frighteningly fine line separating these behaviors. Chalk another one up for "probably unintentional criticism of cultural values."
Final Girl: There's isn't one. Lynn (Julia Montgomery), quasi-hero Teddy's cheated-upon girlfriend, is our closest thing to a typical slasher heroine, but even she disappears long before the film's climax after she discovers the first corpse, making way for the film's true heroine to take center stage: Hal Holbrook as buxom campus security officer Jim MacVey.
Evaluation: Girls Nite Out (a.k.a. The Scaremaker) is like if Porky's (1982) were a slasher film. Yes, of course, any given slasher with a high school or college-aged cast of victims is destined to have at least a dollop of raunchy humor adorning the top of its entrails-stuffed casserole, but that's not what I'm getting at. Girls Nite Out's resemblance to a sex comedy runs deeper than the presence of a few locker-room pow-wows and pairs of exposed bosoms, making it a uniquely strange entry in the early '80s slasher canon.
Can you remember the name of a single hero or heroine in any generic, run-of-the-mill '70s or '80s teen sex comedy? Can you remember the relationships between any of the characters, or any significant story developments surrounding them? Of course you can't. The teen sex comedies of the era were carefree, discursive, and episodic sojourns into grossly exaggerated versions of contemporary teenage life, periodically punctuated by tasteless gags and cartoonish slapstick, and thus they generally had no vested interest in narrative or character development beyond the bare essentials (i.e. Male Character starts out virgin, then gets laid; Female Character starts out a bookish prude, then takes off her top). The sex comedy's focus is less individuals and their stories are than the random and varied assemblage of cultural signifiers relevant to teenage life: beer, boobs, and basketballs; joints, junk food, and jock straps.
Contrary to their popular reputation as similarly shallow "dead teenager flicks," the majority of slasher films really don't follow the sex comedy's philosophy of disregarding story and character in favor of a scattered parade of indistinguishable teenagers doing teenage things. Certainly the slasher subgenre expresses a similar fondness for indistinguishable teens doing teenage things for one of its purposes: slasher films always need their victims. But, importantly, the subgenre is also littered with over-complicated (but more-or-less linear) mystery narratives and vulnerable, tortured protagonists who undergo radical transformations by way of their conflicts with their would-be killers. Essentially, the slasher film is obsessively concerned with story and character. Even the original Friday the 13th (1980), a simplistic slasher with threadbare characters and bare-bone plot developments, distinguishes itself from the mindless spectacle of the average sex comedy through its emphasis on the repetition of local history and the presence (and enduring popularity) of its heroine.
The way in which Girls Nite Out operates places it closer in line with the sex comedy's philosophy than the slasher's. The film is presented as an episodic series of events in the lives of its rather large cast of college buffoons. Because we shift frequently and rapidly among the various characters' stories, we're given no genuine protagonists to follow, as even those characters whose names we bother to learn eventually disappear for long stretches of the film, if not entirely (wherefore art thou, Maniac?). Like the generic sex comedy, Girls Nite Out creates a viewing experience akin to that of being an invisible observer at an actual college party: we absorb every action and detail, but the context is nigh inscrutable, and we're unlikely to ever discover where everyone has wound up at the end of the night.
Ultimately, those recognizable elements of the slasher film that Girls Nite Out possesses (namely, the bloody local history of Dickie Cavanaugh and its ramifications in the present) are not inextricably tied into this episodic sex comedy plot. The killer isn't revealed to be anyone's second cousin. No heroine emerges to confront her literal and figurative demons. The party isn't even cut short because all the attendees are dead. In fact, whenever our bear costumed killer pops in to slaughter another student we're left feeling that she has intruded from an entirely different sort of film (a slasher film starring Hal Holbrook, principally) and swept away another nameless body. Luckily, the Alpha Chi Omega house won't be running out of those anytime soon, and the keg's far from dry.
Can you remember the name of a single hero or heroine in any generic, run-of-the-mill '70s or '80s teen sex comedy? Can you remember the relationships between any of the characters, or any significant story developments surrounding them? Of course you can't. The teen sex comedies of the era were carefree, discursive, and episodic sojourns into grossly exaggerated versions of contemporary teenage life, periodically punctuated by tasteless gags and cartoonish slapstick, and thus they generally had no vested interest in narrative or character development beyond the bare essentials (i.e. Male Character starts out virgin, then gets laid; Female Character starts out a bookish prude, then takes off her top). The sex comedy's focus is less individuals and their stories are than the random and varied assemblage of cultural signifiers relevant to teenage life: beer, boobs, and basketballs; joints, junk food, and jock straps.
Contrary to their popular reputation as similarly shallow "dead teenager flicks," the majority of slasher films really don't follow the sex comedy's philosophy of disregarding story and character in favor of a scattered parade of indistinguishable teenagers doing teenage things. Certainly the slasher subgenre expresses a similar fondness for indistinguishable teens doing teenage things for one of its purposes: slasher films always need their victims. But, importantly, the subgenre is also littered with over-complicated (but more-or-less linear) mystery narratives and vulnerable, tortured protagonists who undergo radical transformations by way of their conflicts with their would-be killers. Essentially, the slasher film is obsessively concerned with story and character. Even the original Friday the 13th (1980), a simplistic slasher with threadbare characters and bare-bone plot developments, distinguishes itself from the mindless spectacle of the average sex comedy through its emphasis on the repetition of local history and the presence (and enduring popularity) of its heroine.
The way in which Girls Nite Out operates places it closer in line with the sex comedy's philosophy than the slasher's. The film is presented as an episodic series of events in the lives of its rather large cast of college buffoons. Because we shift frequently and rapidly among the various characters' stories, we're given no genuine protagonists to follow, as even those characters whose names we bother to learn eventually disappear for long stretches of the film, if not entirely (wherefore art thou, Maniac?). Like the generic sex comedy, Girls Nite Out creates a viewing experience akin to that of being an invisible observer at an actual college party: we absorb every action and detail, but the context is nigh inscrutable, and we're unlikely to ever discover where everyone has wound up at the end of the night.
Ultimately, those recognizable elements of the slasher film that Girls Nite Out possesses (namely, the bloody local history of Dickie Cavanaugh and its ramifications in the present) are not inextricably tied into this episodic sex comedy plot. The killer isn't revealed to be anyone's second cousin. No heroine emerges to confront her literal and figurative demons. The party isn't even cut short because all the attendees are dead. In fact, whenever our bear costumed killer pops in to slaughter another student we're left feeling that she has intruded from an entirely different sort of film (a slasher film starring Hal Holbrook, principally) and swept away another nameless body. Luckily, the Alpha Chi Omega house won't be running out of those anytime soon, and the keg's far from dry.
This film is very close to my heart. Excellent write-up as usual, duder. Buxom Hal Holbrook. Seriously going to start using that phrase from now on.
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