Movie Review: Zombie Strippers
The simplistic plot breakdown: A commando squad is sent to a top-secret lab (located conveniently next to a titty bar) to clean up an experiment with zombies gone wrong. But one of their own is bitten, flees to the strip club for safety, and proceeds to infect all of the dancers who are transformed into some kind of super zombies because, I don't know, girl power or something. Freddy Krueger is in it and there's some silly dance off at the end.
The scathing review: The combination of naked women and zombies should be a no-brainer--like mixing chocolate with peanut butter. How can two things so right, so pure and good, not combine to form something even better? The cinematic equivalent of Voltron, but with far more boobs.
With apologies to the pink lion, but she never took her top off.
But this is Hollywood and Hollywood is made up of people who put nipples on Batman. Who gave us Kathy Bates full frontal. They've done more terrible things to breasts than Chik Fil A, Frank Perdue, and the Colonel combined. And sadly, Zombie Strippers is no exception.
I'm a dong man!
Let's start with the positives. There are a lot of boobs in this movie. A lot. At least 1/3 of the film is dedicated to just showing the titular (pun totally intended) strippers stripping. And that's about it. I can't say anything good about the acting which is hammy, but not in a satirical or campy way, the makeup and special effects which are laughably lousy (my daughter routinely cooks up far worse horrors when she and her friends try on my wife's makeup), or the baffling lack of a plot.
Actual picture of me after playing dress-up with my daughter
And these days, boobs only get you so far. We've been spoiled, you see. Boobs are, at any given moment, an arm's reach away. On your iPhone, television, computer. Hell, give it another year and you'll be watching bare boobs while waiting for your toast to brown. We are boob-rich, boob-jaded. Our boobeth runneth over. That is not to say the boobs aren't nice. They are Jenna Jameson boobs which, while man-made, are still a spectactle to behold (do we appreciate Michaelangelo's David any less because it is carved from stone?). There are Roxy Saint boobs which are small but wine-glass esque. There are blonde boobs. Brunette boobs. And gothic boobs. There is a boob for every boob.
And unfortunately, there are also zombie boobs. The one saving grace of this movie are the lively flotation devices which bounce happily around a stripper pole for 40 minutes. And then the strippers get zombified and the boobs become sad boobs. Angry boobs. Old, withered boobs. And you'll want to look away, but you can't. And for a long time, those will be the only boobs you'll see for a long time.
Remember when you saw Jaws for the first time as a kid? Remember how long it took to go back in the water after that? Yeah, it's like that, but with boobs instead.
Instead of this watch: Any Russ Meyers film. Now there was a man with a healthy respect for boobies.