Since 1982’s Slumber Party Massacre worked so well for producer Roger Corman, he not only wrung sequels out of it, but commissioned Sorority House Massacre as well. It’s basically the same concept, only not as much fun; still, you’d slip it a roofie. It’s also basically just John Carpenter’s Halloween, if instead of babysitting, Laurie Strode joined the Greek system.

Considering pledging Theta Sigma Theta, the quiet, Peter Pan-haired Beth (Angela O’Neill, Vicious Lips) stays the weekend at the sorority house — the kind of only-in-the-movies sorority house that appears to have about four members, one of whom decorates her room with a giant Smurf piñata. Beth has no clue that she once lived there with her family, whose members big brother Bobby (John C. Russell) slayed years ago.

Coinciding with Beth’s weekend tryout — thanks to telepathy — Bobby escapes from the state mental hospital, as slasher villains are wont to do. Stealing weapons and a station wagon, he makes his way to Theta Sigma Theta. Meanwhile, an orderly tells the cops exactly whom to look out for: “I’d say he’s 6 foot, 190 pounds, blue eyes, real pale fucker.” Meanwhile, the girls demonstrate their sisterhood in a gratuitous clothes-trying-on montage scored to what sounds like a Mike Post reject.

First- and last-time director Carol Frank clearly paid attention while serving as an assistant for Slumber, because she took the Sorority gig seriously and plugged in all the slasher genre’s necessary elements: blood, boobs and … well, that’s about it. Although she tried, one need not be paying full attention to see how padded her movie’s mere 74 minutes are; let’s just say Beth has lots of slow-moving nightmares.

Speaking of padding, it’s more than a little disappointing that not a single female in Sorority House Massacre comes close to approaching the sex appeal of its poster model, Suzee Slater (Savage Streets). Theta Sigma Theta must be that one house on campus with a stellar GPA. —Rod Lott

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Bearing more than a passing resemblance to the Mickey-Hargitay-goes-bonkers B-fave Bloody Pit of Horror, Piero Regnoli’s Italian erotic-horror number The Playgirls and the Vampire plunks five easy-on-the-eyes dancers and their Norman Fell-esque chaperone in a spooky castle during inclement weather.

The castle’s host, Count Gabor Kernassy (Walter Brandy, Island of Lost Girls), is all too willing to have these lovelies shack up at his place for the night, but warns them not to leave their rooms under any circumstances. Doing as women do, however, one ignores this piece of advice and gets bitten by a vampire. The next night, she’s already become an official member of the undead, sporting sharp new teeth as she walks around in her birthday suit.

With not much to do, the four remaining gals practice their dance steps, but each in a different style, reminding one of that rehearsal scene in A Charlie Brown Christmas. One decides to break out into an impromptu striptease. You’d think their goofball manager might take advantage of his position, but he’s perfectly happy sleeping next to a girlie magazine that he props up on a pillow and calls “Sweetheart.”

In the underground-catacombs climax, Count Kernassy and the vampire duke it out, with the latter becoming impaled on a conveniently wall-mounted spear. Via the magic of cheap animation, he degenerates into a skeleton — easily Playgirls‘ coolest scene. Only a smidgen less talk and a helping more of nekkid vampire chicks could make this obscure, black-and-white tale more fun than it already is. —Rod Lott

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