Apparently The Slumber Party Massacre was praised in some circles for its reputed feminist angle, but I don't see how the film's non-stop tit parade works to empower women. Maybe people gave the film a pass because it was written by Rita Mae Brown, author of the seminal lesbian erotica Rubyfruit Jungle, which was recommended to me by one of my baby dyke friends back at NYU. I didn't know Brown wrote Slumber Party Massacre when I saw it; in retrospect, though, I can see where her influence is felt. In the film, a killer targets a house where a girl is hosting a slumber party. Across the street lives goody-two-shoes Valerie and her sister Courtney, who may be the horniest girl on the face of the earth. Bored and itching to go out, Courtney is seen at one point flipping through the pages of a Playgirl-type rag (you know, the kind they target to women but only gay men buy). This girl wants it real bad, but from her aggressive and completely off-putting sexual appetite (off-putting not because she's a woman but because she's, well, just nasty), it's easy to imagine her strapping on a dildo and fucking one of the film's screaming ninnies from behind. My female roommate, who refuses to admit that she rubs her clitoris on a regular basis, could seriously learn a thing or two from this chick.   Ed Gonzalez