Substack Rerun: Ten Rules for Theater Survival at a 1980s Slasher Flick

For all the peeps I've been gabbing to lately about what a bitchin' time horror in the Eighties were (and the Eighties, period), another run of these "golden rules"

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Ten Rules for Theater Survival at a 1980s Slasher Flick

By Ray Van Horn, Jr.

It’s been mocked, made outright canon from the 1996 horror classic Scream. Rules for surviving a slasher film or at least furthering your chances of making it to the final credits intact, perhaps a little worse for wear. Just remember to never declare you’ll be right back under any circumstances. Not even with the bait of a sequel cameo, going by Adrienne King’s example.

No sex, no pot, no booze, no coke, no skinny-dipping, nothing which would prompt a visit to a confessional booth or an “I Survived” exposé, assuming you live to make it there. In other words, ixnay to the forbidden manna teenagers of all generations obsess over. That, or die.

Going by the tropes of Eighties slasher films, we might add a few subrules of slasher survival to include no narcissism, no plain Jane shaming, keep a steady 5K running regimen and always think outside the box when fending off a masked killer. Anything and everything are pliable weapons, even a paperclip! Student Bodies is not mere satire; it’s an Eighties slasher survival bible!

Now, if you’re one of the fortunate Gen X’ers who lived, breathed and spewed Eighties horror, you know Friday nights were party time at the theater. No parent dared attend the movies on a horror film’s opening night back then. If you feared the gonzo Minecraft movie popcorn dumping challenge propagated by TikTok, you might do well to consult this handy list of Ten Rules for Theater Survival at a 1980s Slasher Flick should our rowdy shenanigans ever surface again.

Number 1: Always have someone aged 14 or older in your posse.

Horror movies are, by and large, rated R—the ones worth a crap, anyway, save, maybe for PG-13 classics like The Gate, Killer Klowns from Outer Space, Sinister, The Grudge and The Mothman Prophecies. On any night in the Eighties other than the opening night for an R-rated horror movie, you needed someone aged 17 or over present to get you into the theater. Opening night, however, was the one and only gimme pass where the box office purposefully played the game of letting underaged youth fake their ages. Anything to sell tickets. Back in the day, I was the go-to 14-year-old posing as 17 for our band of horror junkies. It was foolproof until we were foiled by the dratted NC-17 rating system.

Number 2: Milk Duds, Jujyfruits and M&Ms are prerequisites. Popcorn optional.

Horror movies in the Eighties were always food fights in disguise, ovular candy being your best ammunition when the house lights dimmed after the final preview. By then, everyone was shouting, stomping and clapping with sheer bloodlust. Laying in wait for the feature presentation with the unspoken mandate to launch snacks. Rocky Horror? Feh. Our carnage was the Iron League by comparison. You were a bigger jerk for whining instead of laughing if you got nailed by candy. There’s always Rick Springfield and Hard to Hold playing one theater over, wimp!

Popcorn just doesn’t have the same density as candy; thus, it was an ineffective weapon unless you got into a row with the kid in front of you for a bucket dump or buttery face mash. The less-than-noble art of shooting popcorn pieces down open blouses was considered pure douchery, same as pressing your feet into or kicking the seat in front of you.

Pro tip, keep some of your candy in reserve for the screen itself, since Eighties slashers were always good for cringe moments which prompted audience shelling. The jeer-worthy ending of Friday the 13^th Part V: A New Beginning, for instance. Though it wasn’t known as “cringe” back then. It was “bogus.”

Number 3: Always get to the theater early on opening night.

It’s easy to get spoiled by reserving your seats in the age of modern moviegoing. Outright bougie to have recliner seats compared to our day. Then you were crammed into hip-squeezing, squeaky, folding down chairs a bare step up in width and elegance above your typical seat for a BoSox game at Fenway Park.

There was no prepaid assigned seating, thus it was a free-for-all, especially if you ventured to the theater in a group. Getting seats together was a sporting event itself, and one could draw the ire of other packs vying for the same location if your crew didn’t stake it out first. May the odds be ever in your favor trying to shoehorn the wrestling team captain and his prom queen date, so you have enough seats down the line to accommodate your ranks.

Get to the theater twenty minutes in advance, minimum. Friday the 13^th movies, I recommend forty, even if you must take a pee break before the movie ever gets started. Make sure you have friends who can handle themselves guarding your seat when the wolves come prowling. Not even those sharp sprinkles of Sno-Caps are enough defense.

Theaters in the Eighties notoriously oversold tickets on opening night for horror films, thus it was commonplace to see standing late arrivals lining the rear of the theater and even sitting on the floor in the aisles until the ushers came and moved them.

Number 4: Never make out during an Eighties slasher film, whatever you do. Hold off for your car afterwards.

Getting it on inside a packed, sold-out horror movie is just asking for it, horndogs. Popcorn, candy and even soda showers are the least of your concerns in lieu of the catcalls, whistles, seat shaking and lewd cheers of “Pork her! Pork her!” Unfavorable conditions, especially if you’re cheating in the open and the grapevine snags its latest feed.

Number 5: Singing “One, two, Freddy’s coming for you…” at a non-Elm Street movie will not be tolerated. Ever.

Do so at your own risk, poser. Know your horror. Otherwise, Rick Springfield awaits you.

Number 6: Be the wittiest mofo of the night, because there’s bragging rights to be snagged!

If you’re a Gen X’er, you already know that horror films of the day meant nobody heard the dialogue, which is why the scripts of your prototype slasher back then was written with the acumen of an amateur porn producer. Everyone mouths off during a slasher film, it’s expected! Screams reaped higher bounty, so long as they came from a virgin non-horror fan. Don’t waste your time spazzing over lame wad teachers, space cadet principals and who’s zooming who amongst the school body. What matters is perpetual razzing of the butcher fodder teens on the screen, since many of the largely implausible actors were in their early twenties for nudity purposes. Style points were always awarded through back claps and congratulatory laughter in the theater lobby after the movie. T’was far better back then to be the Supreme Snark of the cinema than a jukebox hero!

Number 7: If your date complains about the gratuitous nudity, be cavalier if you want some.

This should be self-explanatory.

Number 8: Be ever vigilant for the inevitable post-movie jock or farmer fight.

Nobody ever knew what started them, other than they were guaranteed parking lot entertainment after any horror flick in the Eighties. I got tagged once in the effort to get clear of a teen farmer brawl and lived to tell about it. Not for the weak, I promise you.

Number 9: Make sure you have a full tank of gas for the post-movie promenade around the shopping center or cinema parking lot.

Eighties kids never wanted to go home on horror night, thus getting a ride to and pickup from your parents was even more ghastly a prospect than Stooge’s jack o’lantern covered moon shot in Night of the Demons.

When I say teenagers of the day took over on opening night, we took over, including the parking lots. Without prompting or preamble, those with the swankiest IROC-Z Camaros, Trans-Ams and Super Coupes led an ongoing parade of lesser hotshot Chevettes, Spirits and Escorts that went on and on until the local fuzz busted it all up. Usually there was an unspoken, three-hour treaty from the police where they tolerated the drinking, toking and every rebellious activity that could’ve gotten you killed in the film you just watched. People shouted their thoughts about the film in transit, swapped dates, passed pizza slices and scalped concert tickets while driving in endless rotation. A tribal ritual today’s gadget-fixated youth could never comprehend.

Number 10: Spoilers are the enemy.

It’s not just rude, it’s bogus. Cringe, if you will. Snitches get stitches, after all.