My Bloody Valentine (1981, d. George Mihalka)
After a 20 year moratorium, a small coal mining town plans to relaunch their once traditional Valentine’s Day dance, even though the day is scarred with the memory of a serial killer who brutally murdered V-Day revelers. Then real, dissevered human hearts, in heart-shaped candy boxes, start getting delivered to the town’s elders – the same modus operendi of the legend. Has the Valentine’s murderer come back or has someone else picked up his trademark? A group of young partiers end up in the bowels of the local coal mine, trapped inside with the spiteful Valentine’s Day killer.
I don’t know why this guy came to hate Valentine’s Day so much. Maybe he thought he was the only one in town who wasn’t getting any. Anyway, the motivation for all the killing is really secondary to the joy in seeing innocent people cut into pieces, no? Murder qua murder. My Bloody Valentine isn’t like the high-tech torture porn of today’s horror cinema. It’s just gory, suspenseful, cheap, idiotic and cool.