ZOMBIE STRIPPERS
Source: http://www.fangoria.com/
Many years ago, when I was a wilder, full-of-vim-and-vigor young man and unrefined writer, I was given the job of reviewing a movie (which shall remain nameless) about a homicidal, monstrous turd. (I hope that description doesn’t give too much away.) After looking at the film’s title and reading up on its plot, I immediately knew that I had to gather up some friends, pick up some beer and spend a Friday night watching a serial-killing shit literally kick the crap out of people. Sorry for all the fecal references, but I’m penning this late at night and am rather pooped.
Anyway, the filmmakers sent me an angry e-mail response to the resulting negative review, chastising me for viewing the movie while under the influence of a few cold ones. Well, years later, I still stand by my opinion of that movie, and believe that imbibing a couple of brewskis is the only way you can watch that feculent flick. However, when I was asked by Fango if I wanted to review ZOMBIE STRIPPERS moments before stepping into the screening room, it brought back memories of my killer-crap review. You see, I had just had a couple of drinks during the pre-show cocktail hour with my pal Willie, and although I was far from inebriated, now that I’m an older, wiser and more respectable man, I contemplated the sagacity of accepting the job…
…and then I slugged the rest of the Shiraz from my plastic cup and gave the thumbs-up sign. And that, folks, is my point. Movies about evil excrement and undead go-go girls are best viewed with a crowd, several buddies and, if it’s your cup of tea, some brews or booze. So as I entered the screening room, I was hoping for the best (good, trashy fun), but fearing the worst (bad, unfunny trash).
Well, ZOMBIE STRIPPERS (opening in limited engagements next Friday, April 18; click here for details) is more the former than the latter—and most assuredly lives up to its title: there are zombies and strippers aplenty. The movie starts with a startling news update: George Bush is serving his fourth term (!). Oh, and the Army has also developed a virus that reanimates corpses, so that soldiers can continue to fight after they’ve died. But a little problem occurs when one of Uncle Sam’s undead escapes and makes his way to a small-town Nebraska strip club run by Ian (Robert Englund).
Robert Englund in a zombie-stripper movie? Yes! And guess who plays his star dancer Kat, who is bitten by the infected Army man? Jenna Jameson! Wait…Jenna Jameson? Who’s that? I’ve never heard of her before…and I’ve definitely never seen any of her movies. Oh, wait, she’s the star of such genre fare as THE DEVIL IN MISS JONES, I DREAM OF JENNA and PHANTASM (not the Don Coscarelli film, although both movies feature flying balls). So you’ve got Englund and Jameson in a flick called ZOMBIE STRIPPERS? Hey, that’s three for three in my book.
In true walking-dead tradition, Kat develops a desire for human flesh, and starts to dine on the clientele. Not quite in the classic tradition, the other, living strippers grow jealous of Kat, whose popularity and stage time increase along with her decomposition and decay. Most of the girls actually want to become undead, and even though he’s a germophobe, money talks to Ian as well, and he sees a future in the Zombie Stripper business. Only two things stand in their way: 1) the dancers who want to remain human, led by Berengé (Jeannette Sousa) and newcomer Jessy (Jennifer Holland); and 2) the arriving Army.
Chock full of nudity, ZOMBIE STRIPPERS is good, trashy fun—up to a point. Jameson is game, knows how to dance and holds her own (anyone who can fake an orgasm that many times is the Meryl Streep of porn), and Englund enjoys and really plays up his sleazy, greedy club owner. There’s a bit too much bare flesh and not enough eating of it, though, and most of the bloodshed and carnage doesn’t come about until the conclusion. But when it does arrive, makeup FX creator Patrick Magee does an admirable job with the red stuff and zombie killings, augmented by head-shattering CGI. And the production values on the hi-def-lensed movie are above the norm for this sort of picture. Writer/director Jay Lee also litters political and social-commentary jabs throughout the stripping, story and slayings, but the jokes could be wittier and funnier—although a silly series of stereotypical visual and sound gags involving Paco the janitor (Joey Medina) hiding in a closet got the biggest laughs from me, turning a sophomoric bit into sublime ridiculousness.
ZOMBIE STRIPPERS is unrefined fun, though it’s no SHAUN OF THE DEAD. Where and when you see a movie—as well as your state of mind—are undeniably crucial elements of the subjective experience of watching it, and if I had been home alone checking out this flick, eating a sandwich and drinking a soda at 3 in the afternoon, I probably wouldn’t have enjoyed ZOMBIE STRIPPERS as much. But with some beers, a buddy and a decent crowd, the film almost lives up to its fabulous schlock-cinema moniker.
So grab some drinks and some friends and make a Friday night of it. I just hope the filmmakers don’t send me an angry response; maybe I’ll get lucky and receive an impassioned salutation from Ms. Jameson. Now there’s something I could post on my cubicle wall…
