Dating back to 1978, I’m an iconic slasher movie with a strict adherence to conservative values.
I’ve got an antagonist who’s hysterically ambivalent about sex. On one hand, there’s nothing he likes more than walking in on post-coital women. On the other, he can’t help but destroy what he desires.
Stalking the white, upper-middle class suburbs (I know my target audience!), he singles out victims using nothing but his gaze. Apparently this is the most potent thing about him, because it also negates his competitors. Whenever men see him & try to raise the alarm, they find themselves discredited. In fact the only ones who feel they’re in danger are the female virgins (skittish lot, aren’t they?).
As for the characters who break the rules – drinking, smoking, doped-up teens – they get their just desserts by dying horribly. (Who said sociopathic killers were bad guys?) Ironically, though, my actresses’ death screams sound more like orgasms than when they’re actually having sex.
Having picked off the Whores, I duly reward my Virgin: Jamie-Lee Curtis (with a striking head of hair) is an immaculate young woman who cares for small children & looks great in an apron. She doesn’t even want to go to that decadent orgy of sin, her school dance.
In the end, though, even she’s put in her place. Despite brave attempts to defend herself, it takes a gun-toting hero to save the day. Once he’s on the scene, she & the kids can come out of hiding, like some PTSD nuclear family. Just in time for nine sequels.
Named after All Hallows’ Eve & starting with the letter “H,” I am …?