The wise philosopher Loverboy once said, “Everybody’s working for the weekend.” But Loverboy wasn’t thinking about this particular weekend. Death Weekend. Loverboy wasn’t thinking much at all. He certainly wasn’t thinking about his tight red leather pants and how they could ruin his chances of bearing children one day.
Harry is driving a car. It is a nice car. Don’t ask me what kind of car. I’m no authority on cars. If it has four wheels and doesn’t catch on fire, then it’s a nice car to me. I say this because in high school I had a Volvo that caught on fire. It wasn’t a nice car. Diane’s riding shotgun and she’s wearing fur. This means she’s a fancy lady, or maybe she just hates foxes with their beady little eyes and luscious fur. Harry is a dentist — an oral surgeon to be exact — and don’t you know he makes $25,000 more than the average doctor, so don’t you dog him. He’s a D to the motherfucking DS! Diane wants to drive because it’s a nice car. I don’t particularly love driving, but OK, I can use my imagination here. Diane drives like she has a license, meaning she drives like she knows what she’s doing. The car zooms along a country rode and suddenly she is pursued by some assholes in a muscle car. They cut her off and try to push her off the road because they are assholes in a muscle car. But Diane outruns them, just like that famous dude who’s good at driving cars. You know the one. Diane’s a good driver. She’s not like those other women on the road, am I right?
Lep, played by Don Stroud (The Amityville Horror) is pissed. He just got outrun by a woman! He wants to “find that chick and ram that supercharger up her ass.” That sounds painful, but I’m willing to watch it.
Harry takes Diane to his remote country house. Harry shows off how rich he is. That piano? It’s worth a lot of money. That fireplace? It’s been restored from some century that is not the one we live in now. The bedroom? Bigger than Diane’s entire apartment. There’s stuff that rich people like, including vases and bad art. There’s also a wall full of plates. I once went to a garage sale where a family was selling fifty commemorative plates, one from each state in America. They said they had it all on display on their walls and all I could think was, really? All this? On your walls? I bought the California one for $5, bargained down from $8 because that’s how I roll. I am not rich like Dr. Harry Moneybags, DDS.
“Money talks,” he explains. “Having money is a hell of a lot better than not having it.” Thanks for the tip, Harry. You are obviously a very smart man, which is how you got your money.
Harry spies on Diane through a two-way mirror. He takes photos. There’s not entirely enough nudity, but fine, I can use my imagination. Brenda Vaccaro (Midnight Cowboy, a tampon commercial) doesn’t bare it all. Harry wants to sex her up. He explains that when he sees something he likes, he takes it. But Diane is all, hey, you’re moving too fast. He throws her out of the house. It’s a reminder that being rich doesn’t mean you’re classy.
Lep and his gang break into the house. One of the gang members is about 5’3″ and wears thick glasses. His name is Runt and he looks like Radar from M*A*S*H. They pick on the dentist. They pick on Diane. They grope her, but she’s not into it because she’s uptight. The gang decides to stay for the weekend. They drink all of Harry’s liquor. They smoke in the house. They put their feet up on the couch. They break Harry’s plates on the wall. They break the vases, the lamps, the sculptures. Lep reads from a book and then throws it on the ground. He did not like the book. Someone breaks the expensive piano. Runt rubs his crotch against Diane’s fur coat. The thugs drive a boat and kill a dude. They are just horrible guests. I would not invite them into my home.
Watching the gang wreck the home is deeply satisfying. It’s like watching a band wreck a hotel room. You wish you could join in. You would like to throw a couch out the window and into the swimming pool. You would like to light something on fire, maybe some money. You would like to kick holes in the wall and smash wine bottles against a table, staining the rug. This is something you’ve always dreamed of, but it can never be a reality because wine stains. So when you see this on screen, you want them to go nuts. And in this movie, they do.
Death Weekend is a solid home invasion movie that utilizes all the classic tropes and falls into all the same traps that you’ve come to know and love. Home invasion movies always seem to have opportunities where the hostages can just, I don’t know, make a phone call, perhaps to the local authorities. But then I guess there’d be no movie. Death Weekend is no exception. There are plenty of scenes where the phone is right there. In most movies, the phone gets ripped from the wall to end that possibility. Other times David Hess is in the way and wants to pee on you. Death Weekend is a far cry from House On The Edge of the Park, but most things are. Still, director William Fruet (and producer Ivan Reitman!) created something entertaining and fun, albeit with just a minimal amount of sleaze. It doesn’t have any big surprises or twists, but a guy does get lit on fire. That’s always a good time.
