Things aren’t going so well on opening day of the Memorial Valley Campgrounds. A construction worker dies; the roads aren’t finished; and the discovery of a dead dog in the well has tainted the water supply. (“I ain’t never seen anything like this,” says a worker as he pulls out the canine carcass, apparently having never driven down city streets in his life.) Still, the camp owner (Blood and Black Lace‘s Cameron Mitchell, in a “check, please” cameo) insists the camp open.
His Dartmouth-student son is there to help (but how smart can he be, wearing sweaters on Memorial Day weekend?), much to the chagrin of the barrel-chested, hooch-hitting park ranger. They’re given hell at every turn by the ragtag bunch of campers, including motorcycle gangs, horny teens and a fat kid. But it turns out there are even bigger troubles afoot: a killer teenage caveman’s on the loose!
Yes, with Memorial Valley Massacre, you’ve stumbled on an incompetent mix of Friday the 13th, Eegah and Meatballs. The script is poor, the direction a notch below that and the acting even farther south. But how can you beat slutty chicks who like to dance in the rain or aged bosomy women with names like Pepper Mintz? Well, you can always throw in a teenage caveman! And how can you beat that, huh? —Rod Lott
I could deal with motorcycle gangs and horny teens, but I draw the line at a fat kid.