Sorority House Massacre II “Review” (1990): Thalia’s Spook-n-Boobtacular Day 3
Directed by: Jim Wynorski
Released: 1990
Genre: Horror / Slasher
Running Time: Approximately 77 minutes
Editor’s Warning: Thalia’s reviews contain spoilers, profanity, questionable observations, and an increasingly concerning interpretation of what constitutes quality filmmaking.
Hello again, you beautiful degenerates! It’s Day 3 of Thalia’s Spook-n-Boobtacular, and tonight we’re watching Sorority House Massacre II, a movie directed by Jim Wynorski, which means we can expect plenty of terrible decisions, questionable filmmaking, and, if the gods are smiling upon us, some glorious fucking boobs.
Now, I enjoyed The Haunting of Morella yesterday, mostly because Lana Clarkson descended from the heavens to remind us why movies were invented, but I have been informed that this particular Wynorski production is considerably less interested in pretending to be respectable. Excellent! Respectability is terribly overrated, and after Theia spent yesterday complaining about my review, I could use something that doesn’t require me to exercise my brain.
Get comfortable, pour yourself something strong, and keep your hands away from my popcorn. We’re going to a sorority house!
Well, we’re opening with a bloody nightmare involving a woman wandering through a house where something extremely unpleasant has happened. Bodies, blood, murder, you know, the usual welcoming committee. It’s an effective enough opening, I suppose.
I don’t know who she is, but we’re starting off with a super hot blonde chick talking to do some dude in a truck.
She better show the goods before she bites the dust.
I’m considerably more interested in the sorority sisters who have just arrived to inspect their new home.
And what a lovely home it is! Dark, creepy, falling apart, no electricity, and apparently the site of a horrific mass murder five years earlier.
WHAT A FUCKING BARGAIN!
Seriously, ladies, what exactly was the real estate listing for this place? Five bedrooms, spacious basement, charming historical character, multiple unsolved murders, motivated seller? I understand wanting to save money, believe me, but there’s a difference between finding a fixer-upper and purchasing a house where the previous occupants were brutally slaughtered.
Oh, and they’ve brought beer and tequila. Now we’re talking!
Wait, Janey knew about the murders? She knew this place belonged to Clive Hockstetter, a man who butchered his own family, and she thought maybe this was information worth sharing AFTER everyone had already moved in?
GIRL! THAT’S SOMETHING YOU MENTION BEFORE SIGNING THE FUCKING PAPERWORK!
Never mind. Everyone’s already here, the booze is unpacked, and apparently we’re going to make the best of it. Personally, I’d be opening the tequila before we even finished unloading the car.
And now there’s someone at the door.
Oh, this creepy motherfucker.
Our new neighbor is Orville Ketchum, and he looks like the sort of man who knows exactly where the bodies are buried because he’s probably been checking on them every Thursday for the past five years. He proceeds to give the girls an enthusiastic account of the Hockstetter murders, practically savoring every disgusting detail.
Sir, these women have just moved in. Could you perhaps introduce yourself with a casserole instead of a murder documentary?
AND HE HAS THE BASEMENT KEY!
Of course he does. Why wouldn’t the neighborhood lunatic have the key to the murder basement?
Don’t go down there.
You’re going down there, aren’t you?
Of course you’re fucking going down there.
Oh, look, murder tools! Wonderful! And is that a Ouija board?
PUT THAT FUCKING THING BACK WHERE YOU FOUND IT!
Actually, no, wait. Keep it. We’re only fifteen minutes into the movie, and I would rather enjoy watching this go spectacularly wrong.
Right, we’ve got some detectives discussing the house, a storm is coming, the bridge is becoming impassable, and the girls are settling in for the night. Standard slasher movie business. We’ve established that escape will be difficult, the police probably won’t arrive in time, and everybody is going to make decisions that would embarrass a reasonably intelligent houseplant.
Wait.
Did you hear that?
DID THEY JUST ADD A FUCKING SQUEAKING SOUND EFFECT?!
HAHAHAHA! OH MY GOD!
SHE’S TAKING A SHOWER AND THEY’VE ADDED LITTLE SQUEAKY NOISES! LIKE SHE’S POLISHING A DAMN WINDOW!
WHO THOUGHT OF THAT?! WHO WAS SITTING IN THE EDITING ROOM WATCHING THIS WOMAN WASH HERSELF AND SAID, “You know what this scene needs? More squeaking!”
I’M FUCKING DYING!
That is so gloriously unnecessary, so unbelievably stupid, and EXACTLY the kind of cheesy bullshit I live for! Jim Wynorski, you magnificent bastard, you’ve got me laughing my ass off before anybody’s even been murdered!
Oh, shit. Someone’s opening the door!
NO! YOU POOR BEAUTIFUL GIRL! YOU’RE GONNA GET SLASHED TO PIECES WHILE YOU’RE WASHING THOSE MAGNIFICENT TITS!
I don’t wanna look! I really don’t! But she’s still soaping up those beauties, and I CAN’T FUCKING LOOK AWAY!
There’s creepy creaking, more of those ridiculous fucking squeaks, and now she’s got her back turned to the door! NO! DON’T DO THIS TO ME, JIM! WE JUST MET HER! SHE HAS SO MUCH TO LIVE FOR! TWO VERY GOOD REASONS, IN FACT!
OH, FUCK! SOMEBODY’S THERE!
AAAAAHHHHH!
Oh.
OH, THANK FUCK!
HAHAHAHA! IT’S NOT A MURDER! IT’S ANOTHER HOT CHICK!
AND SHE’S DROPPING HER TOWEL!
JIM WYNORSKI, YOU ARE THE GREATEST FUCKING DIRECTOR WHO EVER DIRECTED ANYTHING!
Wait, they’re not getting in the shower together?
Awww, come on! You had the perfect opportunity!
Well, at least she made a funny funeral joke. I’ll give her that.
AND NOW WE’VE GOT ANOTHER GIRL STANDING AROUND IN HER PANTIES WITH HER TITS OUT?!
HAHAHAHA! THIS WHOLE FUCKING SEQUENCE IS WONDERFUL!
We’re barely into the movie, nobody’s even been murdered yet, and I’ve already laughed myself half to death, nearly had a heart attack, and witnessed more glorious boobs than some movies manage in their entire running time.
JIM, YOU MAGNIFICENT BASTARD, I LOVE YOU!
You see, Theia, this is perfectly legitimate filmmaking. The characters are preparing for bed, and the director has wisely decided that the audience should be present for the preparations. It’s called visual storytelling.
Don’t roll your eyes at me.
I can practically hear you rolling them from the other side of the Halls.
All right, everybody’s clean. I suppose we can get back to the murder business.
Oh, tequila shots! And the Ouija board!
This is going to be marvelous.
Five women, an old murder house, a violent thunderstorm, several alcoholic beverages, and a supernatural communication device found in the basement.
What could POSSIBLY go wrong?
They’re trying to contact a spirit guide.
How sweet.
Oh. They’ve contacted Clive Hockstetter instead.
WELL, THERE’S YOUR FUCKING PROBLEM!
And the board is freaking out, there’s lightning, everybody’s screaming, and the girls are fleeing the room.
Excellent! We’ve successfully summoned a homicidal maniac from beyond the grave. Let’s all go upstairs and pretend nothing happened.
I swear, if the ghosts in this house had any sense, they’d be charging these girls rent.
Could Somebody PLEASE Stay Together?
All right, the girls have gone to their rooms, they’re arguing about boys, and Janey has decided she’d rather go downstairs and have another drink.
Honestly, Janey, I understand the impulse.
However, there is one small issue with this plan.
YOU ARE IN A FUCKING HAUNTED MURDER HOUSE!
You have just played with a Ouija board, contacted a dead psychopath, and witnessed enough supernatural nonsense to convince a priest to retire. Perhaps this would be a good time for everyone to stay in the same room?
No?
Fine.
Go get your drink.
I’m sure absolutely nothing terrible will happen.
Well, shit.
And now Jessica is looking for Janey. Naturally, the only sensible thing to do when someone disappears inside a murder house is to split up and investigate every dark room individually.
Ladies, please. I am begging you. Have a little self-preservation.
Oh, the attic is open now?
Lovely.
No, by all means, go investigate the mysterious noises coming from the attic. Perhaps the murderer has prepared refreshments.
I have to admit that the house itself does make for a decent little slasher setting. There are enough dark hallways, creepy rooms, and suspicious corners to keep everyone wandering around in circles, and the filmmakers are making excellent use of the fact that nobody in this movie appears capable of staying put for more than thirty seconds.
It’s not exactly terrifying, but it is entertaining watching everyone gradually realize that purchasing Murder Manor may have been a poor financial decision.
Wait, wait, wait.
Where are we going?
The detectives are investigating the Hockstetter murders, which makes sense. They’re looking for someone who might know what happened, which also makes sense.
And apparently this investigation requires them to visit a strip club.
HAHAHAHA! OF COURSE IT FUCKING DOES!
Oh, Jim Wynorski, I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me!
We’ve got women being murdered in a haunted sorority house, a supernatural psychopath possibly running loose, a violent thunderstorm, and the police have decided that now would be a splendid time to enjoy some exotic entertainment.
For investigative purposes, naturally.
OH! SHE’S DANCING!
Well, this is certainly a welcome development.
LOOK AT HER GO!
I’m assuming all this is critically important to solving the murders. We wouldn’t want to miss a single second of relevant evidence, now would we?
THERE THEY ARE!
THANK YOU, JIM!
I would like to take this opportunity to congratulate the detectives on their dedication to public service. They’re working tirelessly under extraordinarily difficult circumstances, and if investigating this particular establishment requires spending several additional minutes observing the performers, then so be it.
What a noble profession.
Meanwhile, back at the sorority house, everybody is probably getting murdered.
Oh, right. The murders.
I nearly forgot.
DAMMIT, WE’RE BACK AT THE HOUSE.
Well, the phones aren’t working, the storm is raging, and the girls have finally come to the conclusion that something very unpleasant is happening.
Took you long enough!
And now they’re running into Orville Ketchum again, which is precisely the sort of thing you want when you’re already terrified that somebody is trying to kill you. Nothing improves a situation like finding your deranged neighbor wandering around in the rain.
I DON’T TRUST THIS FUCKER!
Actually, that’s probably what the director wants me to think.
Which means he’s either the killer or the only person in this entire movie who has the slightest fucking idea what’s going on.
Possibly both!
And would you look at the girls now? We’re running around a haunted house in lingerie while somebody tries to murder us!
This movie is ridiculous.
I LOVE IT!
Seriously, how much time did Jim Wynorski spend planning the wardrobe for the second half of this thing? The girls arrived wearing perfectly reasonable clothing, and somewhere along the way apparently decided that the ideal attire for surviving a supernatural slasher rampage was whatever they’d packed for a particularly adventurous sleepover.
I approve, naturally, but I do have questions.
Mainly, where the fuck are your shoes?
There are murder weapons, broken furniture, and God knows what else scattered throughout this house. At the very least, somebody ought to consider putting on a pair of boots.
AND STOP SPLITTING UP!
Oh, now we’ve got more bodies. And we’re barricading ourselves upstairs. And somebody’s creeping around in the dark.
This is turning into a proper bloodbath!
I will give the movie credit for keeping things moving once the killings start. We get chases, screaming, people searching rooms they should absolutely avoid, and the increasingly entertaining spectacle of Orville Ketchum refusing to behave like a normal human being.
And speaking of Orville…
HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES DO WE HAVE TO KILL THIS MAN?!
Somebody needs to check whether he’s covered by the same warranty as Michael Myers.
All right, now we’re getting somewhere.
Linda is fighting for her life, Orville apparently cannot be permanently killed, and the whole situation has gone completely off the rails.
He’s been stabbed?
Still alive.
Choked?
Still alive.
Drowned in a toilet?!
STILL FUCKING ALIVE?!
WHAT ARE THEY FEEDING THIS MAN?!
I don’t know whether to be impressed or concerned. At this point I’d stop trying to kill him and simply ask him what his secret is. There are gods on Olympus with less impressive survival records.
And wait a minute.
Jessica?
JESSICA?!
OH, YOU SNEAKY LITTLE BITCH!
So the whole Ouija board business actually mattered! Hockstetter’s spirit possessed Jessica, and she’s been carrying on his murderous little hobby!
Well, now I feel slightly foolish for yelling at Orville for the last twenty minutes.
Only slightly.
He still looks like somebody who stores human bones in his refrigerator.
And now we’re having a final confrontation, people are stabbing each other, Orville’s back again, everybody’s screaming, and I’m beginning to think nobody involved has a particularly firm grasp on who’s supposed to be dead.
JUST STAB EVERYBODY AND SORT IT OUT IN THE MORNING!
No, wait, don’t actually do that.
Well, perhaps Orville.
No, apparently he’s helping now.
I GIVE UP!
This is one of those movies where the plot starts out relatively straightforward and then gradually becomes a drunken argument between the screenwriter and the laws of human mortality.
And somehow, I’m enjoying myself.
It’s morning!
The police have arrived!
The movers have arrived!
The house is a wreck!
And I assume somebody is going to have a VERY interesting conversation with their insurance company.
Imagine being the poor bastard who sold these girls the property. Five dead people, mass murder, supernatural possession, and now another night of carnage.
The resale value on this place must be spectacular.
Wait.
Linda’s possessed now?!
OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!
ORVILLE’S GOT A GUN!
HE SHOT HER!
AND NOW THE COPS ARE SHOOTING ORVILLE?!
WILL SOMEBODY PLEASE STAY FUCKING DEAD?!
I’m exhausted just watching this.
And now we’ve got a news report about Orville being released from the hospital because apparently being shot by the police is little more than an inconvenience for this man.
Of course he survived.
He could probably fall into a volcano and come crawling out three days later complaining about the weather.
And we’re ending on another wonderfully bizarre note suggesting the madness might not be over?
Good.
I hope the next people who buy that house have the sense to knock the fucking thing down.
Actually, no, I take that back.
Keep the house.
Install a few security cameras, invite Jim Wynorski back, and make another movie.
Just remember to fix the shower first.
Thalia’s Final Thoughts:
Well, that was a delightfully trashy little adventure!
Sorority House Massacre II is not a particularly frightening movie, nor is it especially concerned with making sense. The characters are spectacularly foolish, the supernatural mythology is held together with chewing gum and tequila, and the final act features enough apparent resurrections to make you wonder whether death itself has simply given up.
But you know what? I had fun!
The shower sequence alone nearly killed me, and not entirely for the reasons you might expect. Whoever decided that the sight of a beautiful woman bathing needed those ridiculous little squeaking noises deserves some kind of award. The fake-out scare, the surprise arrival of another gorgeous woman, the completely unnecessary strip club investigation, and Orville Ketchum’s apparent inability to remain deceased were all wonderfully entertaining.
Jim Wynorski knew exactly what sort of movie he was making. We’ve got a creepy old house, a storm, an absurdly durable neighborhood weirdo, sorority sisters running around in increasingly impractical clothing, plenty of bloody violence, and enough gratuitous nudity to ensure I remain in excellent spirits throughout the proceedings.
The problem is that while I thoroughly enjoyed the trashy spectacle, there isn’t a tremendous amount beyond that. The scares are relatively weak, the story gets a little too silly even for me, and once the shower sequence and strip club are behind us, we’re mostly left with people running around in the dark and a plot that seems increasingly determined to confuse the living hell out of everybody.
Now, I appreciate a good helping of nonsense as much as anyone. Actually, probably considerably more than anyone. But there’s a difference between a movie that’s wonderfully stupid and one that’s simply wandering around looking for something else to do.
Still, this is exactly the kind of deliciously disreputable entertainment I signed up for when I started this countdown, and I’m not about to complain about spending an evening with Jim Wynorski and his particular brand of cinematic lunacy.
And for the record, I would like to congratulate the local police department on its thoroughly professional investigation. Particularly the strip club portion. Excellent detective work, gentlemen.
THEIA! PUT DOWN YOUR COLORING BOOK AND COME HERE! I FOUND ANOTHER JIM WYNORSKI MOVIE!
What?
No, I haven’t decided what we’re watching tomorrow.
Yes, I finished my review.
NO, I DIDN’T JUST WRITE ABOUT BOOBS!
There were murders too!
And squeaking!
THE SQUEAKING WAS IMPORTANT!
Thalia’s Ratings
Horror: ★★☆☆☆ (2/5)
A creepy house, a supernatural killer, some bloody murders, and plenty of screaming, but not much that genuinely frightened me. I was considerably more alarmed by the possibility of the first shower girl getting murdered before she finished washing herself.
Cheese: ★★★★☆ (4/5)
Squeaking shower sound effects, tequila-fueled séances, a suspicious neighbor who apparently cannot die, ridiculous character decisions, and a completely unnecessary strip club detour. THIS is the sort of gloriously cheesy bullshit I live for!
Boobs: ★★★★☆ (4/5)
Oh, Jim, you magnificent bastard. Multiple lovely ladies, an extended shower sequence, some delightful lingerie, and a strip club performance thrown in for good measure. You’ve earned these four stars, although I still think you should have let those two girls shower together!
A wonderfully trashy slasher packed with beautiful women, gloriously unnecessary nudity, ridiculous sound effects, and enough stupidity to keep me laughing. It isn’t especially scary, and the story gets a little too carried away with its own nonsense, but I had a damn good time.
Three stars, Jim! Three glorious, bouncing, squeaking stars!
NOW SOMEBODY GET ME ANOTHER FUCKING MOVIE!
