The Weinstein Brothers had just started Miramax and, desperate to cash in on the American slasher craze before it was yesterday's news, Harvey produced Bob's own slapdash script about a dopey summer camp janitor named Cropsy (presumably after the Staten Island legend of the Cropsey killer the Weinsteins likely grew up fearing) who becomes severely burned in a cruel prank gone awry. This Cropsy returns from five years of medical treatment to seek revenge against... well, whoever he can find, I guess, seeing as his first victim is a prostitute and the perpetrators of his injury are long gone. He makes his way back to camp and begins to terrorize campers and counselors, shredding a few with his signature shears.
Admittedly, some of the death scenes are pretty decent. The shot of a silhouetted Cropsy raising his weapon is just about iconic. The film's key downfall, though, is that it wastes too much time building to false scares, where a pair of feet or a suspicious point of view turns out to simply be that of a randy tween. The scant nature of Bob's script is sorely apparent through all the lengthy drawing out required to attain a feature length. Simple as kindergarten though its premise may be, it falls to scattered narrative, the central conflict of which (potential victims feeling stranded and hopelessly river-locked, thereby fish in a barrel for the killer, after taking a mere stroll through the woods) is just one giant gap in logic.
Seinfeld fans will enjoy Jason Alexander in a supporting role, looking like a thirty-something George Costanza even at age 21, but apart from a few fleeting moments of bright, bloody quality, he may be the only thing to enjoy. Even the climactic reveal of Cropsy's disfigurement is yawn-worthy due to the short shoestring Savini was forced to design and create it on.
