The sequel picks up immediately where its predecessor left off, or actually backtracks a few minutes for a brief refresher. Jamie Lee Curtis has plainly aged a bit since the "boogey man" went over the balcony (three years, to be exact), but that's understandable after the sort of night she's had. The monster, meanwhile, rapidly gaining homicidal experience, has developed an interest in finesse and experimentation, trying out such novel murder methods as submersion in a scalding-hot jacuzzi and hypodermic needles inserted into eyeballs. General senselessness prevails: it makes no sense, in the first place, why this movie was made (well, money, of course), and it makes no sense how, either. With Donald Pleasence; directed by Rick Rosenthal. (1981) — Duncan Shepherd
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