If Valley Girl were a slasher movies it might resemble The Majorettes which has shrewd opening credits with a twirling baton. The film is bedecked in 80’s cheesiness as the dancing trope performs in the gymnasium with no rhythm to a Blondie-esque song about “dreamers.” Fans of the era like myself won’t find fault in this. As Porky’s peephole wasn’t creepy enough, now a pederast janitor is watching the girls undress with a 50’s science-fiction whirring effect in the background.
For a drive-in teenage body-count movie, the film has quite the lineage. The novel and screenplay are the byproducts of John Russo, George A. Romero’s conspirator during Night of the Living Dead. Unlike today’s generation of pricks, the women are the sexual aggressors while the males are timid and coy. It’s a fresh spin on gender politics. The plight of the first victim is taut with drama though as her Machiavellian motives are to hoodwink a dork into being the patsy father of her unborn fetus.
The murder scenes themselves are unbelievably lacerated into ribbons with shots not matching, editorial floundering (the editor kept in the few pauses before the director yelled action), visual pretentiousness (a throat-slit casualty jettisoned into a lake is spliced next to a baptism) and the camouflage costume of the serial killer is more pragmatic than scary. Carl Hetrick’s wooden acting is on the echelon of a 70’s porn star.
It certainly doesn’t have the lockstep plotting of a slice-and-dice Tom Savini film. At first, the red herring is the janitor’s leers towards the buxom girls. Next, a nurse is subtly vituperating her wheelchair-bound client. And later, a drug dealer is harassing the aforementioned janitor. None of these intersect in pivotal ways. The Majorettes is a disjointed, unfocused, plodding disappointment and none of the flesh on display can disguise it.
Rating: 1.5 out of 5