An escaped and deranged mental patient. Three girls in their pajamas. More dodgy 80s Metal than you could shake a can of hairspray at. And a title like The Last Slumber Party should be all you need to know about the atrocious pile of garbage you’re about to dive headlong into, so don’t say I didn’t fucking warn you. You still here? Good. Put on your surgical mask and brace for impact. Shall we?​

Directed by a guy named Stephen Tyler—no, not that Steven Tyler, though the Aerosmith frontman would have brought more cinematic coherence to the table even in his most chemically altered state—this 1988 disaster was actually filmed in Louisiana in 1981 and left to rot in a basement for seven years. Clocking in at a mercifully short 71 minutes, The Last Slumber Party is about as trash cinema as trash cinema gets.​

The 30-Year-Old Virgins​

We join our teenage protagonists in class as they prepare for summer vacation. Right off the bat, the amount of suspension of disbelief required to accept these people as high schoolers is way off the fucking charts. If any of these motherfuckers are under 30, I’m the Pope.​

Because the movie sat on a shelf for seven years, and there ain’t a single one of these people anywhere close to school age, the actors were already past their prime when it finally hit VHS.

We’re talking about students with receding hair lines, crow’s feet, and the general aura of folks who are worried about their mortgage payments rather than their prom dates.​

One of the first things you will notice is that nobody can act. The delivery is so stilted, so devoid of human rhythm, that it transcends awful and becomes hypnotic. You can’t take your eyes off of it, not because it’s good, but because you’re waiting to see if they’ll remember to breathe between sentences.​

The First Death: The Zen of Non-Resistance​

The plot kicks into gear when a deranged patient named Mr. Randles escapes from a local mental hospital. Naturally, his first order of business is to acquire a disguise. He opts for a full surgeon’s outfit, which is convenient because it allows him to hide his face and, presumably, the actor’s—and director’s—embarrassment.​

The first death happens at a bus stop. The victim—a nurse on her way home from a shift who is to damn stupid to turn and run for the fucking hills when a masked man pops out and waves a scalpel in her face—stands perfectly still as he draws a line of fake blood down her face with a trick scalpel. It’s less of a murder and more of a slow-motion face painting session gone horribly wrong. This sets the standard for the film’s terror: a complete and utter lack of urgency.​

The Science of Two Killers​

Now, here is where the movie truly loses its collective mind. As if one escaped lunatic wasn’t enough, the film introduces a second killer.

​Enter Science. He’s the class nerd, the guy who gets bullied by the jocks. Driven to a sudden, inexplicable state of homicidal rage, Science decides the best way to handle his social anxiety is to put on medical scrubs—identical to the real killer—and start stabbing his friends.

​There are about ten minutes when you literally have no fucking idea who is on screen. It’s just Guy in Blue Scrubs A and Guy in Blue Scrubs B wandering through a house with the lights off. It’s a masterclass in narrative confusion. Science manages to take out one of the jocks before the actual maniac shows up to reclaim his intellectual property by slitting the nerd’s throat. It’s a killer vs. killer showdown with the emotional impact of a wet paper bag.

The Party at Linda’s: Douchebags and Bad Metal​

The core of the “action” takes place at Linda’s house. The boys show up carrying booze and the swagger of men who think they’re in a much better movie.

​And then there’s the music. Oh, the music.

​If you like dodgy 80s Metal that sounds like it was recorded in a tin can, you are in for a treat. The band is Firstryke—yeah, me neither—and they provide the sonic backdrop for “teens” who use phrases like “Let’s munch out!” with a frequency that suggests the screenwriter had a stroke mid-draft.​

Dr. Scalpel’s House of Laziness

​The kills are breathtakingly cheap. Every time someone gets cut, it’s just a smear of red paint.

Or jam. Jam would’ve cost less.

At one point, Chris (Jan Jensen) accidentally stabs her friend Scott. Does she freak out? No. She gives a look of mild inconvenience, like she just accidentally broke a decorative plate. It’s a moment of such profound incompetence that it reaches a state of zen-like purity.​

A Nightmare Within a Nightmare​

Then there’s the ending—the “all just a dream” betrayal. But Stephen Tyler wasn’t content with one cheap twist. No, we get a dream within a dream.​

Linda wakes up from a nightmare only to be attacked. Then, the scene cuts again, and we realize it was actually Chris’s nightmare. But wait! There’s more! In a final middle finger to the audience, the killer shows up in the real world and murders Linda for… reasons, I guess? It’s a nonsensical, abrupt finish that leaves you staring at the credits in a state of catatonic shock.

Final Thought

The Last Slumber Party is a masterpiece of the so bad it’s impossible to look away genre. It is the raw, unwashed underbelly of the 80s slasher craze.

​It’s trash, yes. But purely, and unintentionally, it’s B-Movie gold for anyone who believes that cinema doesn’t need a budget, a script, or actors who are under 35 to be entertaining. It’s a film that demands to be watched with a group of friends, a lot of beer, and a total disregard for your own brain cells.​

If Paganini Horror was a neon-soaked fever dream, The Last Slumber Party is a cold, greasy breakfast in a fluorescent-lit diner. It’s ugly, it’s cheap, and it’s absolutely hilarious. Don’t say I didn’t fucking warn you.