Answer: When it owes more to Hitchock's Rear Window than, say, My Bloody Valentine, which is the case with Summer of '84, a likeable but surprisingly lightweight feature currently enjoying limited screenings at select indy houses.
The horror films of the 1980s have an allure for certain people. Some of those films were pretty good, though even the most devoted of fans would admit there were more bad ones than good ones. The eleven producers, three directors and two screenwriters responsible for Summer of 84 mined the usual tropes of the era; they came up with something resembling Stand By Me, if the boys were being stalked by John Wayne Gacy.
Summer of '84 never feels fresh or vital, though it attempts some reverence for the old movies it wants to ape. There are references to Ronald Reagan, and Gremlins, and a moody synth score that is quite effective. However, something is missing. The horror movies of the 1980s were vapid and brutal, with scantily clad women running for their lives and knife wielding villains who popped up like Jack-in-the-box clowns. This movie, though aiming to be a tribute to that '80s style, feels more like a Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew mystery. It is "horror light," as if the filmmakers feared an NC-17 rating.
As predictable as a Thanksgiving dinner, the movie ticks all the familiar boxes: a 15 year-old boy named Davey (Grahem Verchere) suspects his neighbor of being a serial killer. Davey enlists his buddies (a fat one, a nerd, a hood from a broken home) into staking the guy out. That is, when they aren't too busy looking at pornographic magazines and complaining about their sad home lives.
The story is set in suburban Oregon, where a dozen or more teen boys have disappeared. David thinks his neighbor, a loner cop who keeps odd hours and always seems to be digging ditches in his back yard, is "The Cape May Slayer." David also dreams of being "the next Spielberg," has a crush on the girl across the street, and is generally fascinated by aliens and government scandals.
The neighbor in question (Rich Sommer) is a bit oafish, but has the kind of open and ready smile that usually means the body of a young boy is buried in his basement. Davey and his gang are soon going through the guy's trash and following him on his nightly jaunts.
They quartet of detective wannabes think they have enough evidence to bust the shady cop, but Davey's disapproving parents shut down the investigation. Davey is persistent, though. This neighbor is just too creepy to ignore.
What can't be ignored is the movie's main flaw. It's just not scary.
The movie tips its hand too early, lets us know who the killer is halfway through, and then snores the rest of the way. Sommers is fine as the mysterious cop, and during the movie's first half you're really not sure what he's all about. The kids are all convincing, and Caleb Emery is especially watchable as an insecure boy whose mother is drinking herself into oblivion. Yet, the constant cheap jokes about masturbation, sperm, and pregnancy, don't add up to one laugh. They weren't funny in the '80s; they aren't much good now.
The Summer of '84 even resorts to the old '80s style of ending on a down note, as if that will add some sort of gravitas after 90 minutes of boob jokes.
Being an homage to splatter films, you'd expect some splatter, or at least the threat of some. But there isn't enough blood here to satisfy even the most anorexic of vampires. That's a shame.
Watching this movie, you realize why the '80s movies were so fun. They didn't want your love or approval. They were just there to pummel you. Summer of '84 wants you to pat it on the head.
