Lesbian Vampire Killers Review
LESBIAN VAMPIRE KILLERS: On general release from Friday 20th March 2009
To be fair, whatever I’m about to write is pretty much redundant in the face of that title.
Short of renaming it Kung-Fu Kicking, Super-Powered Nymphomaniac Naturist Nuns, there’s probably no greater moniker guaranteed to draw in the crowds and cement Mat Horne and James Corden’s ascent to the pinnacle of British tabloid stardom.
Unfortunately for them, great titles do not make great films. If they did, Audrey Hepburn would have –some say deservedly – lost out at the 1964 Oscars to the awesomeness that was Santa Claus Conquers the Martians.
Plot-wise, well… it’s not Proust.
Horne and Corden play Jimmy and Fletch; a pair of bestest blokey buds who set off for a rambling holiday after Jimmy is dumped by his girlfriend for the seventh time. Coincidentally, it turns out that the sleepy little hollow they rock up to is also home to a sect of Sapphic sociopaths (and not an Anne Heche in sight) that are aiming to resurrect their Vampire Queen.
And as a direct descendant of the Knight who sent her packing in the first place, they need Jimmy’s blood to seal the deal.
Unsurprisingly for anyone who’s had the misfortune of watching Horne and Corden’s recent BBC Three sketch show, when it comes to the gag-to-chuckle ratio, it’s less ‘laugh-out-loud’ and more ‘for-crying-out-loud’. There are more misfires than Stevie Wonder with a starter pistol, and it’s left to Corden to salvage a couple of laughs from a script that sees a penis-handled, lesbian slaying sword named ‘Dieldo’ (gettit?) as probably the funniest thing this side of gunging Pat Sharp in cow poop.
As far as Horne’s concerned, he’s entirely inoffensive but once more relegated to the role of Third Wheel. And when you consider he’s part of a comedy duo, that’s potentially funnier than anything else he’s done to date.
The comparisons to other best mate-horror-comedy Shaun of the Dead were inevitable, and while those involved have been insistent on distancing themselves from 2004’s zomromcom classic, Phil Claydon’s direction doesn’t exactly help matters. A poor man’s Edgar Wright, his snappy, cartoonish cuts come across as little more than those of a sixth form art student desperately aping Wright’s cult-classic sitcom Spaced.
Like Black Sheep and Snakes on a Plane, this is one of those brilliantly ‘high-art’ concepts that sound genius when you’ve had a few down the pub with your mates. But with little more than a silly, one-note joke to structure an entire film around, the writers would have to be hoping that the audience watching is as drunk as they were when they wrote it.
Pride and Predator, we’re counting on you.
Ouch. Reckon it can’t get much worse than that? Check out our review of Horne & Corden’s recent sketchshow debut to see why it definitely can. It has Pilsbury Doughboys and everything. And while we’re on the subject of dying careers, make sure to have a look at our list of Top 6 Unintentionally Hilarious On-Screen Deaths.