By Jessica Ritchey

“Final Girl” is a term familiar to any horror buff. For those unfamiliar with the unflinching rules of the “slasher” it’s simply the female character who by virtue of keeping her pants on is least likely to discover what her lower intestinal tract looks like. Though there is much pearl clutching at the levels of violence in modern horror a surprising streak of conservatism runs underneath. Sure kids smoke and bed each other with abandon but smart money says the killer will have their pituitary glands on a necklace by the end of the film. The final girl will instead wrinkle her nose when the brown paper bag of liquor is passed around and will push away her boyfriend’s advances. Sometimes in glasses and often brunette, when the rest of the horny cannon fodder pile out of the van at Lake Deadstupidteen wearing tank tops and terry cloth shorts, she’s clad in a cable knit sweater and knee length skirt. In the finale after the booby-trapped body of her boyfriend falls out of the attic crawlspace she’ll be chased by the killer into the old sawmill and after making sure her shirt is sufficiently torn the killer will submit to stumbling onto a pitchfork. She will then run out sobbing and into the arms of the sympathetic sheriff who has just arrived. The killer’s body will be loaded on the ambulance so that a poor EMT can be stabbed in the neck and set up a franchise that will culminate with a starring role for Busta Rhymes.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. You’ll notice one glaring omission from this list, Halloween. It might have inspired countless hours of non union actors getting eviscerated but not only is it nearly blood free it offers a tight plot, consistent characterizations, and is just a good film without having to use the “. . . for a horror movie” modifier. Unfortunately its imitators chucked things such as “coherence” and “likeable characters” in a mad dash to see who could anger the censors most. There have been many who have worn the label of Final Girl but who takes the gold in screaming and wearing unflattering chinos? In short, whose scream will reign supreme?

To read the rest of this article, please order B-Movies Quarterly #5.