There's really only one good reason to see this film and it really only applies to heterosexual males with big breast fetishes, and that reason is '70s uber-hottie Kathrine Baumann, who appears here in her only nude scenes (to date), first skinny-dipping with future TV Dr. Strange Peter Hooten, then later getting (sort of) raped by James Keach. (I know it's totally politically incorrect for me to call it 'sort of' when, in fact, she is assaulted and the assault is sexual in nature, though apparently no actual penetration takes place as Keach has trouble getting it up.) This is a peculiar film. As several previous reviewers have mentioned, it's been misleadingly retitled (via cheap-looking video effects) as 'Slashed Dreams', with Robert Englund's participation played up in order to make a faux tie-in with the then-current 'Nightmare on Elm Street' series. To all you slasher movie fans out there, to avoid disappoint please note that this is NOT a horror movie, or a slasher movie; nor does it contain any notable violence other than some lame fisticuffs and an assumedly unintentionally comical hatchet-vs-knife showdown at the end. This film could, however, be grouped in that unpleasant subgenre of 'Deliverance'-inspired movies from the '70s where naive city-dwellers go into the wilderness where local inbred redneck perverts rape, sodomize and otherwise make them regret ever having left town.<br /><br />It starts out on a college campus where students Baumann and Hooten receive a letter from mutual friend Englund, who has gone off into the woods and built himself a cabin, so that he can 'find himself'. Baumann's a-hole boyfriend (very convincingly played by Ric Carrot) senses the threat that the bulge in Hooten's pants represents to his relationship with Baumann, and he antagonizes them both to the point where they do run off together to look for Englund.<br /><br />On the way there, they stop in a small town store to ask for directions, where they encounter proprietor Rudy Valee conducting one of his patented radio programs for a phantom audience. Instead of quietly backing out the door, they give him time to spot them and invite them in. Now, in an alternate universe, Rudy Valee would turn out to be the psychopathic killer, who would then proceed to stab Hooten to death and turn his pancreas into a hairnet while Baumann ran screaming into the night...but alas, this movie is nowhere near that interesting.<br /><br />What follows next looks like a cigarette ad from Playboy Magazine circa 1973 come to life, with Hooten and Baumann wandering through the woods, climbing a steep gravel slope, encountering a bear, getting into a blueberry fight and generally bringing the film to a grinding halt (and it was only in first gear to begin with).<br /><br />Eventually they find Englund's cabin, but he's not home, so they go skinnydipping. Since this is a PG-rated film, Baumann's strip-down is discreetly screened by a VERY INCONSIDERATE bush - but then she skips into the shallows and, because of how she's built, you can pretty much see everything anyway. Hooten soon joins her and then they are leered at and accosted by Keach and his microcephalic companion. Later, back at Englund's cabin (no, he's still not home), Baumann and Hooten finally get it on - and are awakened later by Keach and his buddy who've dropped by for some forced copulation. While a knife is held to Hooten's throat, Keach tries to accomplish the act, but has potency issues. His buddy then, in turn, is more interested in slapping the s--t out of Baumann rather than copulating with her.<br /><br />The next morning Englund finally shows up, gives Baumann a little therapeutic pep talk (in which she actually displays more acting chops than she was generally credited with having). Later that morning the three of them run into Keach and his goon-buddy, there's the aforementioned fight, the bad guys are mildly wounded and flee. Baumann and Hooten head back into town.<br /><br />That's it. It's taken me almost as long to type all of that as it probably would take to watch this entire movie, which runs under 80 minutes.<br /><br />Oh, and be warned: far more horrific than anything you'll see on screen is the truly, TRULY awful soundtrack music by some unknown (and rightly so) female folk-style/soft 'vocalist' whose inane, excruciating, nails-on-blackboard screeching is enough to make one wish that Freddie Kruegher would show up and rip out her larynx with his patented claw-fingers. Now THAT would have made for a memorable movie.