PROM NIGHT

THE assorted numbskulls behind this bloodless (in every sense) remake of an obscurely remembered Canadian slasher picture would, I'm sure, argue that it is quite possible to scare the pants off audiences without laying on the gore.

Look at Halloween. Look at Psycho.

Yeah, fair enough. But now have a look at Prom Night. Do your eyes feel heavy? Is your head beginning to nod towards your chest? We'll wake you when it's over.

The time has long past when we could expect such pictures to provide the odd genuine start. But it is, surely, not asking too much that the director should lay on the odd skewered eyeball or splayed abdomen. That bracing feeling of revulsion does wonders for a filmgoer's constitution.

This version of Prom Nightcould play happily in a double bill with High School Musical. Some blonde woman off the telly plays a responsible student - the type knife-wielding maniacs find hard to kill - who, following the slaying of her mother, is doing her best to look forward to the upcoming prom. On the eve of the eye- wateringly vulgar event, the lunatic who did for Mom escapes prison and begins sharpening his weapons.

The plot suggests that the film- makers have watched more than their fair share of slasher classics. They have, however, decided to defy the established principles of cinematic grammar that provide such entertainments with a degree of order. The killer is too dishy. The murders begin too late. The cops arrive too early. The victims do not have sufficiently distinct personalities.

By the close I found myself fuming like a slasher-movie version of Lynne Truss. Those rules are there for a reason, you cretins! Stay away.