Running time: 87 minutes
Starring: James Corden, Mathew Horne, MyAnna Buring, Paul McGann, Lucy Gaskell, Louise Dylan
An early contender for worst British film of the year - if not the decade - Lesbian Vampire Killers is a comedy that makes for depressing watching. Presumably someone thought it would be a good idea to promote two of the stars of one of the BBC's most popular sitcoms to leading man status, but there doesn't appear to have been any more thought given to the project than 'Let's put Gavin and Smithy in a forest and have them chased by semi-naked ladies'.
Even at a slim 87 minutes the film feels slow: this is material that might be good for a five minute sketch. You can't help wondering if it took the two scriptwriters more than an afternoon in the pub to complete the whole thing. The worst of the Carry On films - and I include 1992's Carry on Columbus - had more soul, and certainly more laughs, than this.
The 'plot', a word to be used loosely here, sees Fletch (Corden) and Jimmy (Horne) off for a walking weekend in Norfolk to allow Jimmy to get over the fact that his girlfriend has dumped him. They walk into a pub straight out of the beginning of An American Werewolf in London and are told of an isolated cottage along the road with free beds for the night. En route they meet a van load of sexy Swedish students who are in the area researching paranormal activity.
Holed up in the house they are soon attacked by a horde of lesbian vampires (there's an introductory sequence full of mumbo-jumbo), and it's down to the unlikely lads to vanquish them. Paul McGann plays a vicar enlisted to the cause (Bernard Hill pulled out: he either read the script or has a very very good agent).
If this sounds bad on paper, then imagine what it is like on the screen. The humour consists of a succession of dimwitted jokes along the lines of 'you're gay/no, you're gay'. It's an uncomfortable situation, watching two people who clearly think they are funny drowning in a sea of appalling gags, and director Phil Claydon only succeeds in doing a third rate impression of Shaun of the Dead's Edgar Wright. At one point Corden's character asks 'Do I look like a complete twat'? I think you can guess the answer.
Paul Hurley
Even at a slim 87 minutes the film feels slow: this is material that might be good for a five minute sketch. You can't help wondering if it took the two scriptwriters more than an afternoon in the pub to complete the whole thing. The worst of the Carry On films - and I include 1992's Carry on Columbus - had more soul, and certainly more laughs, than this.
The 'plot', a word to be used loosely here, sees Fletch (Corden) and Jimmy (Horne) off for a walking weekend in Norfolk to allow Jimmy to get over the fact that his girlfriend has dumped him. They walk into a pub straight out of the beginning of An American Werewolf in London and are told of an isolated cottage along the road with free beds for the night. En route they meet a van load of sexy Swedish students who are in the area researching paranormal activity.
Holed up in the house they are soon attacked by a horde of lesbian vampires (there's an introductory sequence full of mumbo-jumbo), and it's down to the unlikely lads to vanquish them. Paul McGann plays a vicar enlisted to the cause (Bernard Hill pulled out: he either read the script or has a very very good agent).
If this sounds bad on paper, then imagine what it is like on the screen. The humour consists of a succession of dimwitted jokes along the lines of 'you're gay/no, you're gay'. It's an uncomfortable situation, watching two people who clearly think they are funny drowning in a sea of appalling gags, and director Phil Claydon only succeeds in doing a third rate impression of Shaun of the Dead's Edgar Wright. At one point Corden's character asks 'Do I look like a complete twat'? I think you can guess the answer.
Paul Hurley
