Prom Night (1980)
If you're not back by midnight... you won't be coming home.
Year of Release: 1980
Genre: Horror/Mystery
Rated: R
Running Time: 92 minutes (1:32)
Director: Paul Lynch
Cast:
Leslie Nielsen ... Mr. Hammond
Jamie Lee Curtis ... Kimberly Hammond
Casey Stevens ... Nick McBride
Anne-Marie Martin ... Wendy Richards
Michael Tough ... Alex Hammond
David Mucci ... Lou Farmer
Joy Thompson ... Jude Cunningham
Mary Beth Rubens ... Kelly Lynch
George Touliatos ... Lt. McBride
Antoinette Bower ... Mrs. Hammond
Sheldon Rybowski ... Seymour 'Slick' Crane
Summary:
Four Hamilton High seniors are hiding a terrible secret. What happened to Robin Hammond six years ago was a game that turned into a horrible tragedy, and someone saw what they did... someone waiting for gruesome revenge! Wearing a black hood and wielding an axe, a killer brutally slaughters the teenagers one by one at their high school prom. As the spotlight falls on the newly crowned prom king and queen, the psychopath will show everyone his new favorite game to play...
Review:
Prom Night, remindin' us that you don't hafta become Valedictorian to be the head of your class.
And speakin' of missed scholarship opportunities, revisiting Prom Night always makes me nostalgic for my own high school prom; which was actually Sadie Bonebreak's prom given that she was three years behind the rest of us in school, and because I wasn't allowed to attend mine in '88 after an incident in Auto Shop where Cleave Furguson and I hooked a set of jumper cables up to the shoulder clasps on Randy Stahl's coveralls while he was inspectin' the plugs on a '66 Plymouth Satellite and accidentally started a small oil fire. Cleave escaped any consequences since it was me who'd cranked the old Blazer in the adjoining space, but I'd just like to say that Randy thanks me to this day for sterilizin' the contents of his beanbags and givin' 'im the opportunity to live the carefree bachelor's lifestyle he almost certainly woulda lost nine months after that very prom had I not intervened.
Anyway, like I was sayin', it was Sadie's prom, really, and she was all kinda P.O.'d 'cause Principal Duckett'd put his foot down and forbidden 'er from takin' Ashley Thigpen outta concern that their unholy coupling could open the gates of Hell and suck the Class of '91 into a Lucio Fulci movie or somethin'.
I'm not tryna throw the man under the bus or anything because as somebody who has access to video rental records datin' back to 1985, it's plain to see that Principal Duckett was dealin' with an inner struggle between what was socially acceptable at the time and what he knew to be right given the number of times he rented The Vampire Lovers during that period.
'Course, this was information we weren't privy to at the time, and so Sadie decided she was gonna ditch the prom and get Billy Hilliard and me to call in sick at the Arcadia Pinball Palace so the three of us could roll the man's house, but as it turned out, there was to be a change of plans, and we were about to learn what Haldane meant when he said: "The universe is not only queerer than we suppose, but queerer than we can suppose."
"Change of plan you guys - I'm takin' Lance McGarnagle to the prom. So we'll hafta hit Duckett's place after-- what? Take a picture, it'll last longer!" Sadie growled as she reached out and dealt Billy a double titty twister.
"Ow! Ow! OWWWWW! Uncle! Aunt! Whatever! Lemme go!" Billy whined, tryna pry Sadie's fingers loose but succeeding only in increasing the pressure.
"Come on Sadie, take a chill pill. It's just... well, you'll be the only one there who won't hafta worry about protection's all," I snickered, instinctively covering my vulnerable areas.
"And what about Ashley? She's not as pretty as Lance, but you could do a lot worse," Billy remarked, rubbin' his freshly purpled nurples.
"I ain't here to get relationship advice from a coupla skank wranglers. And besides, he's payin' me $300 upfront to keep his dad from findin' out he's..." she paused, searching for the right words.
"Training for a career in sword swallowing?" I suggested.
"Searching for a cure for chronic constipation?" Billy chuckled.
"Quick show of hands - how many people here took a girl to the prom? Go on, hold 'em up, lemme count... oh, zero? Huh. One less than the gay guy, well, that's gotta hurt," Sadie snapped.
"Alright, fine. It's just weird, that's all I'm sayin'. You're prostitutin' yourself to a guy who'd get queasy touchin' your fun tunnel so his dad won't find out why the boy started a cucumber garden in the back yard," I shrugged.
"You know how Buster is. If wind of this ever got back to him it'd kill 'im," Sadie insisted.
"I'm fo' vat. Wef go fell 'im wigh now," Billy grinned, poppin' a piece of Bazooka Joe into his mouth.
"Tell 'im? Hell, I'll kiss Lance on the lips if it'll blow out Coach McGarnagle's head gaskets," I volunteered.
"Later. In the meantime, here's $20. Make yourselves presentable for Friday - it's formal," Sadie instructed, inspecting the mustard stain on my Clyde Drexler jersey.
Now, you may be wonderin' how two guys who graduated three years prior were able to gain access to the high school prom, 'cause there's no way you'd ever get away with that kinda thing nowadays. Well, basically we were able to convince Mrs. Bunce that we were there at the request of Sadie's dad to make sure his daughter left with her honor intact, and she not only bought that crapola but even praised our strong Christian values. Mrs. Bunce was always a real nice lady, but you just know the woman has a timeshare in Hot Springs, Arkansas that Erik Estrada duped 'er into buyin' via late-night infomercial.
You may also be wondering why Billy and me hadda be there at all, and we were wonderin' that ourselves until it was explained that Ashley was gonna be there servin' punch and that Lance's under-the-table romance (Jimmy Barnabas) would also be on hand feigning interest in the female form; so essentially, we were there to keep Sadie and Lance on the straight and narrow and ward off any hormones that might queer the deal.
I was assigned to keep an eye on Sadie and Ashley (by which I mean I won the coin toss) while Billy was responsible for keepin' Lance and Jimmy from enacting their gay agenda, and everything seemed to be fine (if you've got a stomach built to withstand C+C Music Factory and punch spiked with Mad Dog 20/20) until, suddenly, Ashley abandoned her post at the punch bowl and dashed off in the direction of the can. Sadie managed to play it cool until "Everybody Dance Now" (it's a wonder any of those kids turned out straight) ran its course before excusing herself, and I seem to recall that that's when the trouble started.
"I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Sadie," I said, blocking her entrance to the bathroom.
"Listen, twerp, I'm totin' around 52 ounces of fruit booze here, so if you don't wanna be the quicker liquor picker-upper I'd suggest you move your scrawny ass," she barked, shovin' me into a row of lockers and givin' me PTSD flashbacks.
"I'll just watch the door... soon as all these flashin' lights stop, I mean," I mumbled, pullin' myself up and stickin' my face in the drinkin' fountain.
"Ash? You okay, babe?" Sadie asked, headin' for the towel dispenser where Ashley was dryin' her face.
"I'm okay. And I know this's all just to help Lance, but this was supposed to be our night," Ashley stumbled, her voice breaking slightly.
"Hey, come on. It's not who you go with, honey. It's who takes you home," Sadie smiled, embracing Ashley and leaning in to gaze into her eyes.
"Ladies, it's gettin' awful quiet in there," I called through the door.
"Piss off, runt. You just keep watch," Sadie giggled, fiddling with Ashley's earring.
"I mean it you two, don't make me come in there," I threatened.
"Tell him to get lost," Ashley whispered, already rounding 2nd base.
"Ya know, I knew you couldn't keep 'em in your bra! This whole thing was your scheme to help the fancy man save face with his Pop, and you're in there gettin' ready to buff the floor! Well, I've got bad news ladies, 'cause I've come prepared," I snarled, shovin' the door open.
"Hey! Get outta here!" Ashley shrieked, withdrawing her hands from the naughty places they'd been occupyin'.
"Sure thing. Matter of fact, I think we're ALL gonna wanna do just that here'n about... oh... now," I smirked, cuttin' the greasiest, gooiest Velvetta cheese you've ever smelled in your life.
I'm not proud of myself... no, now that I think about it, I absolutely am. Regardless, that killed the mood faster'n a Baby Ruth in the hot tub and got their minds outta the gutter and back to the task at hand and, at least for my part, the rest of the night went off without a hitch.
Billy on the other hand ended up havin' to pull Lance and Jimmy apart after catchin' 'em under the bleachers together just before a pack of refuge-seeking wallflowers were about to walk up on 'em and only managed to conceal the truth by shoutin' "Break it up! You punks wanna fight? You do it off school grounds!"
He always was the smart one.
I guess the phony couples met up afterward and split up into more appropriate pairings later that night (the details of which I was mercifully spared), and Sadie used the payoff to scoop up an old '78 Rabbit that she was able to get hummin' again in Auto Shop durin' the last few weeks of the school year, while Lance and Jimmy successfully kept their secret until after graduation and hauled buns down to California.
There're probably at least a dozen lessons a person could take away from this story, but if I can only leave you with one, it's this - never, ever, mix Mad Dog with Hormel chili unless you wanna spend the night havin' to choose which orifice gets custody of the toilet. Ah... memories.
One thing I'll give Sadie's prom - at least we'd beaten Disco by then, and that's the single greatest horror Prom Night has to offer when you get right down to it. Don't get me wrong, I love a good Canadian tax shelter flick, but if you want the truth, Prom Night's a little iffy as an '80s slasher flick on account of its producers wavering between a desire to repeat the box office success of Halloween and trying not to do anything that might come off as impolite.
I don't wanna get too deep into the details, but when the censorship board hasta tell you to tone it UP a little if you wanna get an R rating ya know things're driftin' into Thriller territory, and anytime that happens I think what you've gotta do is take the people responsible and lock 'em in a room with David Cronenberg until he can instill an understanding of what's expected of them, and what a privilege it is to be producing horror flicks on the taxpayer's dime. There should also be independent verification from a reputable source that the would-be filmmakers were made to vomit at least once following a private screening of special effects footage from Cronenberg's filmography before allowing these people to return to their work. I know it sounds harsh, but it's the only way they'll learn.
I'll let you be the judge regarding Prom Night's place in genre history, but just to show I'm not prejudiced against the Great White North, I've got three maple-infused olive branches blossoming with Canadian wisdom that I'd like to pass on to all the domestic readers sufferin' from a syrup deficiency. And for any Canadians readin' this, I'd also like to apologize for... well, you know.
First, contrary to conventional Disco wisdom, knowin' how to love will not keep you alive. Second, treating students who've entered into middle school blood pacts is above the guidance counselor's pay grade. And third: funk on the dance floor - game clincher. Funk in the boy's locker room? Twat clincher.
The movie begins in an old abandoned school house where a group of kids (Wendy, Nick, Jude, and Kelly) are riskin' a ghostly knuckle rapping by the spirits of vengeful Literature teachers while hidin' and seekin', only after a while an etiquetteless interloper (Robin) invites 'erself to join mid-seek and gets backed up against a 2nd story window by the pre-teen tribalists who scare the scholastic crap out of 'er and send 'er tumblin' out to splatter like a scoop of mashed potatoes on the cafeteria floor. Accident or not, this kinda thing carries a mandatory minimum sentence of 30 years in detention hall, so the kids enter into a pact, vowing to leave the incident out of their "What I Did on My Summer Vacation" reports before headin' home to turn on CBS and make sure Cronkite isn't spillin' the beans. Next thing, it's six years later, and the kids' perfect crime has led to hard time at Alexander Hamilton High after the DA managed to secure a conviction against a local sex fiend (Murch) who got sent up the River Styx following a police pursuit that turned the suspect into Canadian bacon after his getaway car ceased to get after goin' up in flames like the Canucks just won the Stanley Cup finals, and now some creepola's taken to callin' up the kids involved in the murder to tell 'em he knows what they did last summer vacation and not to bother sendin' out any college applications.
Meantime though, the clique's no longer clickin' following Nick's decision to dump Wendy and take Jamie Lee Curtis (Robin's older sister) to the prom, and Wendy gets so P.O.'d that she starts hangin' around this guy who looks like Mars from The Hills Have Eyes who's got a unibrow that's verging on a headband (Lou) and gettin' 'im to make a play for Jamie Lee's Skirtis until Jamie's little brother (Alex) hasta fight off Lou and his Doof Troop in the cafeteria while everyone's gathered around the communal condiment dispensers. Unfortunately, Leslie Nielsen's the principal, Alex and Jamie's dad, and not yet fully committed to the slapstick comedy genre, and Leslie expels Lou for wanton destruction of plastic fry baskets and for single-handedly bringin' the school's SAT average down by 26 points even though it's the day of the prom and Lou just shelled out $6 to rent a tuxedo from an undertaker who absolutely hasta have it back by 9am sharp the following mornin'. Eventually, day becomes night and the seeds of the Millennial generation prepare for implantation as Nick and Jamie become infected with Disco Fever and create an epidemic that spreads throughout the senior class like measles in a Texas daycare center. The one notable conception exception is Kelly, who comes down with a case of cold teats while laid out on a bench in the boys' locker room, and mere moments after bein' abandoned for wiener pastures, some angry twerp in a ski mask who got cut from the slalom team sneaks in and installs a throat moat in 'er neck with a glass shard. He then heads outside to a van where Jude's just gotten 'er cherry bombed by a Bob Pinciotti lookalike (Seymour), 'cept once he's finished hummin' a few bars of Slay Jude, Seymour jacks his jaw and the guy hasta do a Cirque du Soleil routine on the side of the van while Seymour spins cookies all over the Lacrosse field until Seymour and his shaggin' wagon go cliff divin' without a driver's side airbag.
Then the Unipromer goes after Wendy in the can but she knows 'er way around the stalls like a Republican congressman and escapes to a supply closet where the realization that Kelly's cached corpse is dribblin' blood all over her gown causes 'er to give away her position and get 'erself hacked into Kibbles 'n Bitch. While all this's been goin' on, the cops've had a stakeout on the prom in case the recently escaped Murch crashed the party or somebody lit up a joint in the parkin' lot, and it's about this time the police get word that Murch's been apprehended and that they can relax and ogle the young flesh. Unfortunately, this's also the moment where Lou's Crew's supposed to set their revenge plot against Jamie into motion even though her social status's already been irreparably damaged after bein' seen doin' the Hustle with Leslie Nielsen, and so Lou's troop of baboons club Nick so Lou can ascend to the throne of the prom king until everyone in attendance finds out precisely how heavy is the head that wears the crown when the Disco Infernal lops Lou's head off and sends it rollin' down the coronation ramp. I don't wanna go any further'n this since we've spent the last 80 minutes buildin' up a mystery with more red herrings than a Bangor fish market, but I feel obligated to warn you that we've officially reached the Scooby-Doo portion of the flick where we're just waitin' to find out who's under the mask, and that all the gore added in to achieve that coveted R rating has already been expended.
Alrighty, and with that we conclude the third of Jamie Lee Curtis' six pre-indoor bullstuff genre flicks, and a flick that I would rank at the #8 spot in the list of tax shelter films made in the Great White North before they decided to quit usin' public funds for the greater good and go back to squanderin' it on affordable healthcare.
I like Prom Night as much as the next guy, but it does kinda say somethin' about you as a nation when your guys hafta go back and *add* gore to earn an R rating while we were down here fightin' a losing battle against the MPAA to maintain the integrity of our genre flicks (no disrespect intended to Mr. Cronenberg, who was, at the time, pickin' up the slack for Canada writ large, and showin' everybody from every nation how it oughta be done). Seriously - if you were to take out the decapitation and the two slit throats, you coulda ran this thing as a Movie of the Week on a Saturday night and only received three more complaints from the moral majority than something like Dark Night of the Scarecrow, 'cause it just barely meets the very minimum requirements of a horror flick from that period.
Kinda interesting when you think about it, because while the decapitation that sets off the chain of events leading to the final confrontation single-handedly saves the movie for horror fans, it probably also cost the flick its chance of becoming an October mainstay on cable. Watching it back again decades later, you can see how accessible it is to the same mainstream audience that made Halloween a success right up to the moment David Mucci's head goes flyin' (briefly showing the gooey innards) and comes to rest upright on the coronation runway, simultaneously establishing its horror bonafides and double-crossing an audience that was convinced they were in the hands of a "tasteful" director who could be trusted not to do anything nasty. Nonetheless, the film is still pretty tame by '80s slasher standards and goes to a lot of trouble to apply a veneer of credibility with its slick production values and a storyline better suited to a Murder, She Wrote than a body count flick, but you've still gotta respect the decision to lop off that head and bring it home in the final moments when it would have been easy to play it conservatively and position yourself for "better" projects in the future, and for that, I salute the crew.
In any event, let's all settle into our desks for a quick refresher in Slashers 101 and find out if this sucker still makes the grade, or whether nostalgia's got people scorin' it on a bell curve.
The plot, for good or ill, functions more as a murder mystery than a straight horror flick, and that's after the producers cut the scenes that painted the deceased child's parents and both siblings as potential suspects. Strangely, the subplot about the railroaded creep who'd been convinced of the child's murder was added in toward the end of production, so it's possible that contributed to the axing of the previous scenes, but any way you slice it, the theatrical cut (many of the aforementioned sequences were restored for the TV cut) has too many red herrings that fool no one and contribute little to the story. The script also draws comparisons to Carrie (sometimes by critics who were paid for such analysis) for its "revenge at the prom" angle, and while that is true, I don't take issue with it given the way the plan backfires before ever getting off the ground. That said, I don't think the ending quite works for reasons I won't go into to avoid any potential spoiling, and I think they would have done better to reveal the mother as the killer as it both fits better and would have shocked everyone given that no one would have ever expected a woman in 1980. Nevertheless, there're no egregious issues within the story, and whether you believe the whodunit aspect helps or hinders the effectiveness of the film as a matter of personal preference, the removal of certain scenes that might have otherwise provided clues will keep you guessing about the identity of the killer.
The acting is strong among the primary cast and features an excellent performance from Jamie Lee Curtis as she continues to gain confidence and improve her screen presence in the years following Halloween despite working with a much weaker script, and the movie may well owe its existence to Curtis' desire to star in it, as Paul Lynch has stated that he had been having difficulty securing funding until she took an interest. Curtis would go on to star in Terror Train, Road Games, and Halloween II before goin' off to Hollywood to make her fortune, and I've probably said this before but it bears repeating - you've gotta respect the woman for comin' back to the horror genre at a time in her career when she'd become established enough to pick and choose the gigs she wanted to take. I'm not gonna sit here and gush about her for as long as she deserves, but in short, she is, as the kids are saying - one of the real ones.
Leslie Nielsen is fine if completely wasted in what would be one of his last serious roles before finding his niche as one of the great goofball comedians of the era, although, as mentioned, his role was whittled back a bit in the editing room after the decision was made to narrow the list of suspects. Casey Stevens, Michael Tough, and Mary Beth Rubens are adequate as potential victims, and George Touliatos is competent as the inconsequential lieutenant barking up the wrong tree, but the only other strong performances are those of David Mucci as the punk caveman struggling to relate to women of the '80s, and Anne-Marie Martin as the cutthroat bitch tryna win back her man with ruthless tactics and a coupla boxes of strategically placed Kleenexes. Mary Beth Rubens represents the only weak link as the sex-resistant Kelly, who seems incredibly uncomfortable every time she's on-screen and doesn't seem to have received adequate instruction from the director.
Here's who matters and why (besides Jamie Lee Curtis and Leslie Nielsen, of course): Anne-Marie Martin (Runaway, Halloween II 1981, The Boogens, The Shape of Things to Come, Dr. Strange 1978, Killer's Delight), Antoinette Bower (Die Sister, Die!, Time Walker, Blood Song, Superbeast, The Mephisto Waltz), Michael Tough (Skullduggery 1983, Virus 1980), Robert A. Silverman (Scanners, Naked Lunch, Waterworld, The Ruining, eXistenZ, 984: Prisoner of the Future, Jaxon X, The Brood, Rabid), Pita Oliver (The Intruder 1981), Jeff Wincott (House of Fallen, The Invasion 2007, Future Fear), Mary Beth Rubens (Firebird 2015 AD), George Toulintos (Heavy Metal, Firebird 2015 AD, Virus 1980), Melanie Morse MacQuarrie (Murder by Phone), David Gardner (Class of 1984, Virus 1980), Joy Thompson (Skullduggery 1983, Baker County U.S.A.), Rob Garrison (Human Error, Starship Invasions), David Bolt (Spasms, Videodrome, Murder by Phone, Phobia), Ardon Bess (Bloodwork, The Skulls II, Deadline, The Shape of Things to Come), Brock Simpson (Prom Night II - IV), Michele Scarabelli (2001: A Space Travesty, Alien Nation).
And the social climbers: Anne-Marie Martin (Dori Doreau on Sledge Hammer!, Gwen Davies on Days of Our Lives), Antoinette Bower (Fox Devlin on Neon Rider), Jeff Wincott (Detective Frank Giambone on Night Heat), Mary Beth Rubens (Bobbi Katz on E.N.G.), David Gardner (The OCP Chairman on RoboCop the series), Michele Scarabelli (Jo Santini on Airwolf).
The special effects are few and middling as a result of excessive lighting. The set lights frequently shine too brightly and tend to spoil the magician's secrets, as the blood sometimes comes across as something akin to fire engine red, with the torso of David Mucci proving to be the greatest casualty of error. That said, most of the blood is shown against a darkened background that hides the problem effectively, and the prosthetic work (slit throats, severed head) of Allan Cotter (The Brood, The Dark 1993) and Warren Keillor (Black Christmas 1974, Happy Birthday to Me) are effective. Wisely, the effects artists went with the time-tested "body hidden beneath a platform" approach for the shot of Mucci's head sitting on the stage, and it is this decision not to reinvent the wheel that leads to the best and most memorable frame of the flick. The movie also features a pretty spectacular crash and burn when Sheldon Rybowski's van goes over the cliff and generates a satisfying fireball.
The shooting locations are superb, with the bulk of the film being shot on the campus of the Don Mills Collegiate Institute in Toronto while doubling for a college in Ohio because, apparently, we here in the States couldn't handle foreign films if the actors so much as pronounced the letter "o" differently than we did. Regardless, the school has an excellent '70s vibe (the '80s were still in utero and yet to blaze their own trail) that brings the institution to life with great cinematography by Robert New, and the nostalgically potent art direction of Reuben Freed, whose work reaches a crescendo at a Disco prom so cheesily endearing that it can make you see past the kinda fashion disasters that only excessive LSD consumption can explain. Additionally, the abandoned Langstaff Jail Farm used in the opening sequence is pretty creepy and is exactly the kind of place a lot of us used to frequent as kids anytime supervision was unavailable or unconscious for one reason or another. Really good stuff here even before accounting for the completely inconsequential shot along the shores of the gorgeous Scarborough Bluffs where Casey Stevens is just about to tell Jamie Lee Curtis what happened to her little sister before wimpin' out.
The soundtrack is the weak point of the picture, as the conventional string/piano scoring lacks both enthusiasm and a requisite catchy track around which the rest of the score is so often based. There's nothing wrong with a composition that plays second fiddle to the on-screen happenings, but when the action picks up the soundtrack needs to follow suit, and Paul Zaza's score never quite rises to the occasion. Zaza would go on to compose the soundtracks to Porky's and A Christmas Story for Bob Clark, but horror fans will recognize his contributions to My Bloody Valentine, Ghostkeeper, Curtains, and what I believe to be his best score - The Brain. Prom Night was his first foray into the horror genre, and to be honest, both it and his second effort, My Bloody Valentine, are mediocre at best. A person could reasonably speculate (given the good work he's done subsequently) that this could be partially attributed to burnout, as the man composed soundtracks for 14 movies between 1978 and 1982, and while it's not bad music, it is very generic and feels as though inspiration was not forthcoming in what was likely a short timetable.
Zaza's Disco tracks, on the other hand, are much livelier and encapsulate the music scene of the era succinctly, but funnily enough these tracks were written and recorded in just five days out of necessity following the crew's decision to brazenly (or naively) record the dance sequences using chart-topping songs of the day that would have cost a fortune to license, and consequently, Zaza had to save the day with legally distinct variations of hits like Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive" at the last minute.
Overall, Prom Night meets the requirements for inclusion within the pantheon of '80s slasher flicks, but its low body count, minimal gore effects (which were only added late in the game because it was deemed necessary), and murder mystery format leaves you with the feeling that you've somehow become a victim of false advertising. With the exception of the somewhat muddled plot, it just feels a bit too slick to be an effective slasher, and despite being better than most on a technical level, it lacks the entertainment value of a Silent Night, Deadly Night; Just Before Dawn; or a Slumber Party Massacre, in my opinion. It still comes recommended, and there's no arguing that it's as popular as it is for good reason; I just consider it to be overrated.
Rating: 68%