Murder Weapon is an interesting movie. Interesting. The opening scene (which is 10 minutes long) consists mainly of footage of a bikini-clad woman lotioning her arms and legs, and Linnea Quigley in pigtails, walking home from school and drinking a glass of milk. It's not really as amazing as it might sound. The editor cuts back and forth between these two scenes so frequently that the movie almost hypnotizes you into thinking it all means something. Rest assured, it doesn't. But the bizarre pace and editing of Murder Weapon is what makes it worth watching (once); at times it almost feels more like an avant-garde student film than a late 80's slasher by the director of Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-A-Rama. Which isn't to say that it's good, it's definitely not, but it has more going for it than the average bad slasher movie.
After the prolonged opening scene (which mercifully does end in a double homicide) and a lengthy credits sequence, we jump right into another nearly 10 minute long scene. But this time it's Linnea Quigley's character Dawn (revealed now to be a patient in a mental hospital), having a leisurely chat with her longtime psychiatrist, Dr. Gram. Dawn and the good doctor discuss Dawn's progress at the hospital and her friendship with fellow patient Amy (Karen Russell). Apparently Dawn and Amy have made a pact to throw a big party when they're both released from the hospital. And their release comes sooner than expected when Dawn threatens to report Dr. Gram for sexual abuse. In this lengthy dialogue scene a lot of backstory is revealed for both Dawn and Amy, but don't worry, none of it really matters. Like the hilariously drawn out opening scene, this is just filler to pad the movie to feature length.
The next time we see Dawn or Amy they're both suntanning at the pool behind Amy's parent's house and talking about boys. It's the day of their big party, and apparently the only guests they've invited are an assortment of their ex-boyfriends. Some of their old flames sound like fantastic guys, one of them's "got this great tattoo of a two-headed dragon. It's really neat." And they definitely are fantastic, but none of them can hold a candle to Eric (Michael Jacobs Jr.). Eric is described as the abusive, violently alcoholic, heavy metal singer from up-and-coming band The Chainsaws. He's given a real rockstar introduction too, with his own music cue, and a close-up of his boots hitting the pavement as he steps off his motorcycle. He's an intimidating presence, until the camera pans up and he looks less like a heavy metal badass and more like Bob Saget with a mullet. As it turns out, he's also a really nice guy. I guess he really cleaned up his act. The rest of the party guests are interchangeable, but once the men arrive and the party starts rocking (if you consider two guys playing catch in the front yard a rocking party), the movie gets slightly more interesting. There's still an abundance of unnecessary and overlong expository dialogue, but now at least it's peppered in between bare breasts, violent murders, and lines like "Oh baby, I can't make love to you in your car, I respect you too much. Just give me a blowjob instead." and "It makes my tits shrink just thinking about it." Touché, Amy, touché. The special effects aren't bad for the era and budget of the movie, but they aren't good either. Make sure you rewind the tape and watch the head explosion a couple times to really let it sink in. You'll also probably need a couple views just to figure out what the hell was actually happening.
There's no real mystery as to who is doing the killing, so don't pay attention to any of the amateur detective work from the guys. The only interesting part is near the end when the survivors try to understand the killer's motive. "Why did that guy kill all those kids in Stockton? You can't justify it, it just happens." They're really quite level-headed, especially considering they're the survivors of a pretty extensive massacre. I would have just wet my pants.
It's not a good movie by any means, it's not even the best movie David DeCoteau (or Ellen Cabot if you trust the credits) has ever made, but you could do worse. The seriously mind-boggling moments of hilarity almost make up for the seriously yawn-inducing moments of boredom.
