There exists within me a modicum of affection for the early 80s teen slash pictures. I grew up on a diet of this stuff. Then, in my youth, it was scary stuff, but today, it’s pure cheese fit for the good people at Kraft. “Happy Birthday” to me fits comfortably into that nest of films, which raise a slender bit of nostalgic interest but are otherwise as disposable as toilet paper – I mean that as a compliment.
Somewhere in this morass of gory hedonism, a microb of a message emerges. We are introduced to Virginia, a proud member of the “Top 10”, the most popular girls at Crawford Academy – the connective tissue of the group is the same “so last year” scarf”.
Since we have a gaggle of nubile teens with bad attitudes that also means we have a killer on the loose, a sneaker wearing killer who murders by means of throat slashing, head-crushing and doing away with one poor sap who gets a pair of garden shears to the gut – OUCH! If that weren’t enough, Virginia has flashbacks, visions of . . . something that means something to someone. I don’t know I wasn’t paying attention.