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Lesbian Vampire Killers, directed by Phil Claydon

© Momentum Pictures

It's trying to be Withnail and I meets Shaun of the Dead. But really it's just yet another lad comedy about two useless buddies, in this case Jimmy (Mathew Horne) and Fletch (James Corden). As usual, one gets fired from a rubbish job involving a silly costume, while the other has trouble with an on-off girlfriend; so they holiday in a cursed village where, with some “hot babes”, they're besieged by pouting lesbian vampires until a Van Helsing-type vicar (Paul McGann, in a role he should be ashamed of) leads their quest to kill the vampire queen. So far, so predictable, and there are few laughs, if any.

It gets worse, though. Lesbian Vampire Killers goes beyond simply relying on the clichés of raunch culture, like “hot babes” and “girl on girl action” in floaty shifts. It has a nasty, woman-hating edge. Two “vampires” die in horrible, unfunny ways: had I not been reviewing (for another website, which explains my going to see it at all), I'd have left after the hideous axe scene; soon after that, we're invited to laugh at the implant remains of another dead “babe”. The climactic moment each girl gets what she deserves is marked with an eruption of white gloop, and we shouldn't be surprised about that because this is a masturbatory fantasy about wanting not to touch stupid, dirty women but to watch them, and avenge the power they (the fetishised “dominatrix” boss who sacks Fletch, for example) have in life and relationships. Awful stuff. Admittedly there's male self-hatred here, too, and there is one fairly intelligent, fun woman in it. But her virginity makes sense in terms of the film's logic: it's the impure women who are expendable.

Lesbian Vampire Killers is lame, misogynistic, horrible at times and dull most of the time; it's perhaps not quite in the Boxing Helena class of offensive rubbish, but it's not far off. Amazing it's been made at all. Certainly no one involved in it should want it on their CV. It's bad.