Friday the 13th may not have been the first slasher film I ever saw (that’s either The Hills Have Eyes Part II or Elm Street 3) but it was my 92 minute Citizen Kane.
In what is arguably the film’s standout slaying, a pre-fame Kevin Bacon relaxes in post-coital bliss and, when Marcie’s gone to the bathroom and her own fate, a drop of blood from the body hidden in the top bunk plops on to his forehead.
Before he can figure out what it is, where it came from, or what his career prospects are, the killer’s hand clamps his head back and a spearhead drives up through his throat in a truly horrible manner, tentpoling the skin of his neck until it splits and blood spurts (in a possible reference to ejaculation?) from the wound, into his mouth (looking like a bendy straw in pic. 3), and wiggles about until he’s dead. As dead as Ned. Ned’s who’s dead and above the bed.
It’s a definitive slasher movie kill and everything that’s good about Friday the 13th as a brand and a concept. But truly, truly, icky.
From the original cut of the surprisingly vicious My Bloody Valentine (eventually unleashed in 2009, about the only thing we can thank the remake for), the standard one-half-of-couple-finds-reason-to-leave schtick unfurls as usual, leaving poor Sylvia here to be attacked by the creepy miner, who decides to do away with her by impaling her head on one of the rusty, pointy shower nozzles, resulting in her acting as a sort of novelty shower head for her boyfriend to discover a few minutes later. Ouch.
Probably the most inventive demise in the film, which when restored also included a gruesome pick-axe through the jaw and out of the eye. I feel twisted to be so thankful they eventually gave us the extra bloodletting. Oh well, the world still turns…
Hailing from Return to Sleepaway Camp, this high in transfats demise was a throwback to the maiming-by-boiling pot from the 1983 original.
Greasy, grubby kitchen assistant Mickey makes the fatal error of egging resident nutjob Alan, whose constant whining and whinging makes him the object-of-hate for not only his fellow campers and counsellors but also anybody watching the film. He’s that much of a twat.
Anyway, somebody begins offing those who are mean to Alan, beginning with Mickey, who is held upside down over a boiling vat of oil until its slippy sides cause him to plunge headfirst into it.
Resulting in this crispy critter… Probably one of the better demises in an otherwise disappointing sequel that took its sweet time to gain a release.
From the camp-tastic Freddy vs. Jason, A-holey boyfriend Trey, ahem, “finishes” with his g/f Gibb and immediately dispatches her to the shower: “Babe! You know I don’t like to be touched afterwards!” Usually, it’s the chick in the shower who is doomed but in this instance, Jason rightly chooses to teach nasty Trey an interesting lesson about having sex in your girlfriend’s best friend’s dad’s bed…
Indicative of the tone the film adopts, it’s a new one for the J-man, who, incidentally, kills almost all of the cast, leaving Freddy just one slaying.
From 2001’s mixed-Euro slasher flick, The Pool, comes the ultimate foreplay killer. A pretty girl sliding down the inside of a big tunnel towards her beau – she gets something hard between her legs alright, but not what she hoped for – then there’s the ‘period from hell’ angle that even Claire Rayner and her press-on wings couldn’t help… Either way you look at it: ouch!