Peckerwood Manor

It's almost Halloween, the season of slasher movie pajama parties, or if we're to believe Gen Z gays, they're strictly gay slasher movie pajama parties. Why? Because "slasher movies are gay AF!" Which, I have to say, I find both adorable - oh, you cute li'l gays - and mildly annoying, if only because slashers have historically been openly misogynist and vaguely Republican with respect to sex, or rather, punishing anyone who was sexual, or had sex, particularly women, with deaths both gruesome and titillating. The prime example of this is arguably the first slasher, Alfred Hitchcock's "Psycho," the slashing death of Janet Leigh in the shower a  tour de force of masterful savagery and peek-a-boo nudity, and, yes, there's a cross-dressing villain played by Anthony Perkins, a closeted gay actor.  Low-budget mavens took Hitch's template and ran with it, creating a series of crude, slapped-together slashers which scant craftsmanship, much less