Calling Slaughtered a horror movie would be like calling Deep Throat an erotic thriller. There’s nothing much here except spank material for wannabe necropheliacs and snuff enthusiasts who can’t quite admit their fetish to themselves and try to hide behind the cover of “watching a horror flick”. Riiiiight… and men read Playboy for the articles.
The story is porn-O-simple. A crazed photographer named Harold invites a model over and takes pictures of her clothed, naked, alive, dying and dead. Then he posts them on his website; which is called SLAUGHTERED SHEEP and boasts an image of him grinning insanely on the homepage with a camera. (Yeah, nothing ominous there.) Then it’s Wash, rinse, repeat. Same thing, different girl, different kill. The structure of this film is no different than any Jenna Jameson f**k flick, the only difference is that instead of semen we have a blood flying around.
Know what the real problem is? I don’t like my smut this clean. The filmmakers here don’t quite seem to want to go too far in either direction. They’re not really making a movie movie, but they’re not really making a horror porno either. What kind of fun is that???
Anyway, to pad out the running time the filmmakers added a female detective subplot. I was desperately hoping that they’d put a twist in the story. Like have her get all excited and wanna be snuffed or maybe the actress would have played the part mute and expressed herself through interpretive dance or ANYTHING, just to be different you know? But noooooo… it’s just the standard screenplay 101 thing where she very slowly pieces the obvious clues together in her office and then rushes to the killer’s house to save the last girl before it’s too late. Another subplot (With this much talking stuff put in it must have taken them two whole hours to write the script) is that the photographer begins to see the ghosts of his victims, so at least we know the writer has seen “Maniac” a few times.
Joe Spinell is rolling in his grave.