My obsession with horror and my affinity for slasher movies kicked into high gear in junior high. This was not without a bump or two in the road though. One of these bumps that sticks with me took place in 8th grade.
I was sitting in health class and I had just finished a quest (a term coined by my teacher for a combination quiz/test) and I was feeling a little awkward as kids often do when trying to avoid making eye contact with people so shortly after discussing genitals. I began to doodle on the top of my paper. Being a horror fan, I decided to draw as skeleton. Being an idiot, I decided to call him Crackers and have him hanging himself and saying “Help me!” I am sure you are more intelligent than I was and can see where this was going.
Health Teacher===>Guidance Counselor===>My Parents
One necessity of being a young horror fan is having a way to access lurid material. My parents were always fairly permissive with whatever I wanted to rent horror wise. Anything that looked too sexualized though, required me to go down a different avenue. After this little stunt, that long leash I had got a little bit shorter.
Not much shorter though. This was almost a decade before Columbine and the world in general seemed more innocent. My parents still let me pick from the horror section, but I distinctly remember my father taking Slaughter High out of my hands, placing it back on the shelf, and saying, “We’ll just put this one back.” I’m sure the tagline, “MARTY MAJORED IN CUTTING CLASSMATES…” didn’t help my cause.
Slaughter High had never been near the top of my priority list to begin with. I had been regularly renting horror movies for quite some time before I got around to it. Having been rebuffed in my attempts though, it suddenly became the only thing that mattered. I needed to see this movie in the worst possible way.
I wish there was an epic story of clever resourcefulness and subterfuge that led to me finally seeing it, but it I actually just waited a while until my older brother took me to the video store instead. I kept it out of my dad’s site and no one was the wiser. Not exactly a Hollywood ending.
Well, the movie is one of those somewhat maligned slashers that I absolutely adore. I love the things that work (the awesome mask, the insanely cruel pranks) as much as I love the things don’t (the middle aged teenagers, the faux American accents). Everything clicks for me, even if the movie has obvious flaws.
One of those things that clicked for me is the basis for this addition to my collection.
I should preface this by saying that I think dirty talk in the bedroom is hot but admittedly intimidating. While the potential for saying the wrong thing is nothing short of hilarious, that only applies when it happens to someone else. Laughing at other people is great, but I’m not as thrilled with the idea of people having a chuckle at my expense – especially when I’m naked.
Luckily, for people like me, Slaughter High can educate while still being a great slasher movie. The tutorial on effective dirty talk takes place about an hour in, when two people sneak off to have sex on a ratty old bed amidst the carnage. It would probably help to know that these two are carrying on an affair and are well aware of the fact that people are getting killed around them. The forbidden fruit is so much sweeter, isn’t it?
When we join Frank and Stella bumping uglies, it’s not entirely clear how long they’ve been going at it. My guess would be, not long. It’s been about 30 seconds or so real time since the foreplay that played out earlier. In spite of this, Stella has to urge Frank to try to keep going. He keeps yelling that he can’t, so she decides to get the most out of it and encourages him to talk dirty.
Given what I’ve seen so far, I wouldn’t expect Frank to be as adept as he is, but he wastes little time in coming up with the perfect response – “Umm…Tits!” As far as I’m concerned, this is gold. Stella is quite the dirty girl and demands more and if you thought Frank was good for only a few words, you’d be wrong. He’s got at least two more and he’s not afraid to use them. He delivers the goods once again with Fuck before returning to the always reliable Tits. He brings it all home with the perennial Screw.
The dirty talk must have worked too. Frank is able to keep cussing and thrusting until Stella climaxes. While it’s true that they get electrocuted as she’s screaming in ecstasy, I’d like to think that the dirty talk played a pivotal role in the couple enjoying their last few moments alive.
Of course, this begs the question, did Marty know that people were going to be having sex on this bed or did he rig it up like that just in case?
I’ve never seen a shooting script so I can’t tell whether this was scripted like this or improvised on set but there are three writers credited. I can only imagine that this scene is the culmination of many long nights of soul searching. Whatever the genesis, I encourage all of you ladies and gentlemen to give this a whirl to keep things interesting in the bedroom.
Remember, the tried and true formula goes:
But feel free to experiment and try different permutations. Please report back here with your results.