Slumber Party Massacre 2

A Review by Rhonda Baughman

I, Drill

I have many, many guilty pleasures.
My readers have long suspected as much – but if you could be a little tremulous monkey in the corner of my mind – you could feel the spastic joy and orgasmic quivers I receive every time I watch Slumber Party Massacre II. There is no reasoning with me about this film. It is what it is – and it is a piece of unparalleled genius. A metaphorical denouement to the series – even though mediocre sequels followed. Harumph! I recognize them not. And while part deux was, quite simply, not in the same league as the original, it does have a je sais ce qui … the soundtrack.
Before you stop reading – hear me out.

Yes, I know – the legendary Jason Paul Collum did his exposé-cum-retrospective several years ago for Femme Fatales magazine. And he did it very well. After my attempt to find Robin Rochelle Stille for an interview, I unearth her suicide in 1996. Collum continues with interviews from still-living, still undeniably hot cast members from all films. I think it’s over.
Alas, no.

The soundtrack. I have always wanted, no needed, the soundtrack – in any form.
I have the original’s score on vinyl, after all – there must be one printed for the second, right? If there is, I can’t find it. I do have downloads from the internet, but if you’re a collector, you want your very own real pressed copy to have and to hold ‘til death do you part, and most likely not even then. Bury me with the damn thing.

And while Juliette Cummins’ boobies, Atanas Ilitch’s so-over-the-top-of-course-I-bet-he-came-from-the-stage performance (think Stephen Geoffreys) and the slumber party feather dance (no doubt reenacted more times than the George Michael’s Faith bed boogie in The Rules of Attraction) are perfect – and I do mean perfect – but they are only accoutrements, side dishes, the aperitif to the soundrack.
The music is the main course.

Tokyo Convertible? Let’s Buzz? If Only? These are wonderful songs! And more relevant to my overexposed eardrums than, say, the godforsaken garbage being drilled into my head from the radio.

However, the real question is: Who in the fuck is Hell’s Café?
Is it just the song? The song and the band? Someone’s nephew who was also the best boy key grip who banged the associate craft service table wench? What? Who?! Why!

Bottom line: It’s a bloody great song. I place it in the top twenty as one of the best songs written in the last three decades. And I wish I were joking.
Be not concerned with the price you must pay … in Hell’s Café we always have a good time …
Those are just a few snippets of lyrics I can pick up, since the dialogue from the film is over the tune and the screeching giggle of half-naked nubile teens is also over the actual song. This is a bummer. The public needs access to the song as a whole. Wait – fuck the public – *I* need access to the song as it sounds in its most pure, raw form.
I have my own dance to do …