You know what you’re getting into when you watch a film with a title like Cheerleader Massacre. Bad acting is par for the course: the actors might look like the Days of Our Lives type, but their thespian ability falls short of even that mark. There’s no reason to be surprised by home-video quality cinematography nor a barely-there screenplay.
There’s the occasional ironic chuckle at the ineptness of the plotline (which fumbles around in generic slasher territory for a while before blatantly ripping off I Know What You Did Last Summer), or the terrible editing, which emphasises rather than disguises awkward pauses.
The problem is that Cheerleader Massacre doesn’t deliver on its promise: this is barely a cheerleader massacre. In fact, the majority of the victims aren’t cheerleaders at all. Even the inevitable silicon-fuelled nude scenes are sub-par. There’re a few unimaginative shower and sex scenes, as you’d expect, with clumsy slow pans up bare blonde bodies, and one smutty scene that is imaginative but in all the wrong ways. If Gummo has taught us anything, it’s that food in the bath is utterly disgusting, meaning that a chocolate-syrup-in-the-tub scene is more likely to evoke dry retching than arousal. Gross.