FILM REVIEW: Lesbian Vampire Killers
15 • 96 mins • 20 March
Director: Phil Claydon
Cast: James Corden, Mathew Horne, MyAnna Buring, Paul McGann
If furious feminists decide to picket screenings of this movie – which they have every reason to – they ought to given some kind of humanitarian award. Not so much for highlighting its salacious objectification of the female form and stereotypical portrayal of lesbians. But rather for simply trying to stop anyone watching this drivel.
Let’s get one thing straight. It’s not drivel because of its lesbian titillation. It’s just drivel. The Beavis and Butthead mentality is just another reason to loathe it, like Page Three of The Sun.
Plot? Well, there’s evidence there may have been one once. Cash-strapped, girl-bereft slackers Fletch and Jimmy take a hiking holiday to a village in Norfolk which turns out to be cursed by vampire lesbians. No hassle, ‘cos they can be handily defeated using an ancient sword with a penis-shaped hilt (that noise you can hear is feminists nationwide face-palming). Cue lots of girl-on-girl snogging action, made-you-jump scares, frantic arm-waving and mugging. Whenever something as daring as a subplot seems to be rearing its head, you can bet it’s just the set-up for a gag.
Gavin And Stacy’s Horne and Condon – whose genuinely charismatic screen presence is one of the film’s few plus points – desperately try to inject some life into a barely-strung-together series of comedy setpieces. Undeniably there are a couple of very funny moments, but too often the frantic, gimmicky direction sucks the humour out of promising situations. One scene, in which a vampire runs around with an axe buried in her head, is clearly supposed to be this film’s equivalent of Shaun Of The Dead’s baseball scene, but is completely ballsed-up in its execution. And when all else fails, let’s have a vicar saying, “F**k!” Dear God. To be fair, the final gag is a cracker, but it’s still like an unexpectedly decent punchline to a drunk’s tedious ramblings.