Once there was a time when hanging out at the roller rink wasn’t just a thing, but the thing. That time was the time of Mortuary, one of the more interesting slashers, to be honest, despite said skating. Mind you, “interesting” does not necessarily equal “better.” I’d say the forgotten film deserves a second look, if only it had been fortunate enough to earn a initial one.
High school good(-ish) girl Christie (Mary Beth McDonough, then freed from a decade of servitude as one of a kajillion siblings on TV’s The Waltons) is still mourning the death of her father, although she does not know his poolside passing was flat-out murder. We do, because we see it happen in the prologue — in slow-mo, no less! Girl’s got her hunches, but she’s too busy skating and seeking solace in the warm embrace of her admirably patient (but understandably blue-balled) boyfriend, Greg (David Wallace, Humongous).
Greg undergoes a tragedy of his own when his best bud, Josh (Denis Mandel, 1990’s Brush with Death), disappears after the two boys witness a cult ritual at the local mortuary: black-robed babes, burning candles, Pieces’ Christopher George — all the makings of a satanic panic! Perhaps those events have something to do with the mysterious cloaked figure stalking Christine, hmmmm?
I’m all for too-old students being menaced by cultists who adhere to dress code, but the one true reason to visit this Mortuary, directed by Scorchy’s Howard Avedis (and not Tobe Hooper, whose 2005 movie of the same name is markedly inferior), has zip to do with all that and 100 percent to do with the magic of Bill Paxton. Then just two years — and yet many miles — away from his Weird Science breakthrough, Paxton steals the show as the pallid Paul, the mortician’s son who spends his after-school hours helping Dad drain bodily fluids from nude corpses (watch for the woman who blinks!) and awkwardly making advances toward Christie, even right in front of Greg! Paul’s idea of flirting is trying to impress her with “the new Mozart” LP he just acquired on vinyl, not to mention happening to pop up in the cemetery during the lovebirds’ walk home. When Christine kindly gives Paul the brush-off, the guy skips away. Skips! Paxton commits, bobbed head and all, as if he’s performing in another movie than his fellow cast members.
If one were to judge Mortuary by ending alone, the argument for “another movie” could be made in concrete. It defies not just the film’s own rules, but those of the natural world, like Avedis and co-writer/wife Marlene Schmidt (They’re Playing with Fire) suddenly decided to shift planes of existence and told no one. Whereas this head-scratcher of an axis spin would kill lesser horror entries — hell, even greater ones — it actually sticks a pin on the pro side.
By then, if not well before, viewers will have forgotten about the plot, about the murder, about Josh’s vanishing act, about Lynda Day George’s bosoms struggling against the silky fabric of her nightgown, and yes, even about Christie, our ostensible Final Girl. Not even her sex scene (in which McDonough was body-doubled) stood a chance against the power of the Pax and the preposterous. The two constitute a formidable team. —Rod Lott