As I was painfully reliving the experience of watching National Lampoon’s Class Reunion, I felt a strange sense of déjà vu. Not because I remembered seeing it back when I was a wee child of the ’80s, but because it kept reminding me of another movie that really sucked.
“Hey,” I heard myself shout in my brain when the connection was finally made, “this is just like Slaughter High!”
A quick overview of the plots of the two films makes this clear as both are about a group of assholes whose class reunion at their closed-down high school is interrupted by a disgruntled former student whose life was ruined via a tasteless class prank. Space prevents me from listing the other ways the two films coincide, but at a certain point, I stopped keeping count.
The main difference between them is that Class Reunion was marketed as a straight comedy, which it constantly (and depressingly) attempts to be, while Slaughter High was marketed as a straight horror film, despite the fact that a combination of the filmmaker’s incompetence and contempt for the audience makes it play far more like an unsuccessful spoof than a typical slasher movie.
Made by what can charitably be described as the then-Lampoon’s B-company, the John Hughes-penned Class Reunion helps prove my two long-held beliefs that there is nothing worse than a bad slasher movie parody and that there is no such thing as a good slasher movie parody. Still, this is better than any National Lampoon movie that’s been made in the last decade. —Allan Mott
Dastan flees with Princess Tamina (Gemma Arterton) across the desert and encounter ostrich races, deadly snakes and guys with gloves that shoot spikes. He is quite the ace at hopping rooftops, performing rope tricks, and smiling and grunting. Whenever he effs up, he unleashes some magic sand in his magic dagger which reverses time for several seconds, resulting in a cool effect whose cost could keep Third World countries flush in white rice for years. 
After an initial night of bonding in the cabin over a pork dinner — during which Busey repeatedly plays with a disembodied pig’s head, and you wonder if that was scripted — Ice-T gets a rude awakening (literally) as he learns he — not wild animals — is the intended prey. Despite the miles and miles of forest around them and not having hunting dogs, they always manage to know right where he is. After running for a while, Ice-T decides to turn the tables on them, and you can pretty much guess what happens from there. It involves little more than rock-throwing, rigging vehicles, jumping from trees and uttering bad quips.
This leaves them lots of time to talk and eat and talk. The men start seeing each other as a threat, and Betsy as a prize. But all they do is talk and eat and talk.
In a small town just a few miles away from wherever