“Everything’s fine, it’s just that men suck.” Paige, Kate, Shelley, Lily, and Dorothy all remained quasi-good friends ever since middle school, but no one talks about the Carrie-esque events that transpired at the 8th grade V-Day dance back in ‘88. Thirteen years later a deranged killer in a Booji Boy...er, 'Cupid’ mask and a Burberry bridge coat seems to be stalking the besties, and some have received threatening (though impressively hand-crafted) valentine cards too. Sample message: “The journey of love is an arduous trek; my love grows for you as you bleed from your neck.“ Could there be a connection? The film keeps us guessing, in every possible way. One minute it’s a stylish, lurid neo-Giallo, and the next it’s a prudish, boilerplate Y2K slasher. Through all that, the film also plays as a sly, snarky heteropessimist manifesto, serving up an exhausting parade of detestable, entitled male archetypes who all seem plausible as serial killer suspects. Well, maybe the movie is all these things at once (a girl can dream!). One thing we know: it sure is a whole lot of fun, even if all you’re in the mood to think about is “bedhead chic” and Wonder Bra feminism. Shot in a Vancouver laughably miscast as San Francisco, this dizzying effort from director Jamie Blanks (Urban Legend) will play in a special 35mm presentation hosted by Music Box’s final girl-in-residence, Gaudy God.

-Description by Gabriel Wallace