Scary, violent, and playful, Vamp is the quintessential 1980s mashup of Brat Pack comedy and trash horror. It's one a handful of films directed by Richard Wenk, these days better known for writing blockbusters like The Equalizer and The Magnificent Seven.
Keith and AJ (Chris Makepeace and Robert Rusler) are two kids looking to sleaze their way into the college fraternity. They intend to do so by hiring the ultimate stripper. With the help of the infinitely wealthy Duncan (Gedde Watanabe) they go to the city and find themselves at the After Dark strip club. It's owned by Katrina (Grace Jones), who also turns out to be their dream girl. What they haven't banked on is that the club is populated by vampire strippers, queen among whom is Katrina herself. A raunchy road trip turns into a desperate lunge for survival, as the bloodsucking bad guys close in on their prey.
Vamp is pure energy and efficiency: 90 minutes of gaudy, gory fun. There's always a wink in its eye: upon entering the city, the boys find themselves in the back alleys via a car accident, the vehicle spinning like the house of Dorothy Gale. One character quips, "We're not in Kansas anymore". After that it's a neon-lit nightmare all the way, impaled with Dario Argento-style pinks and greens.
The chemistry between the characters is a breeze. There's the easy banter between Keith and AJ, and the less-than-easy chemistry between Keith and Allison (Dedee Pfeiffer). Allison, an old flame of Keith's, may be oddly ignorant to the true nature of her murderous colleagues, but she's not naive; she may be bouncy and adorable, but she's no pixie dream girl. Duncan, meanwhile, embodies the swagger and impotence of 80s excess – his money buys them into trouble but cannot get them out again.
Then there's Grace Jones, whose unique persona is put to great use here. Her striptease is frightening and sensual. She's the original Lady Gaga and she's off the leash. She doesn't say a word throughout the whole film but she doesn't need to – her eyes and hair and clothes do all the talking.
The makeup effects are seriously special. Queen Katrina is a grotesque creation: the deliberate antithesis of Jones's pristine elegance. As for the excellent sound design, well, the noise of gorging on carotid blood has never been so fantastically disgusting and guttural.
As the film wears on it does begin to lose some of its initial spark. The final onslaught has more in common with a zombie horde than a pack of lethal vampires. The eerie atmosphere and the visual gags slip away – an early moment when the owner of a greasy spoon cafe dons a priest's robe and cross at the end of his shift is never topped – in favour of more ordinary action dynamics.
From frat house to strip club to sewer, Vamp is a far cry from the opulent castles of Stoker's myth. Its heightened grottiness is all its own, and its simple storytelling and memorable characters have stood the test of time. I watched it once on grainy VHS, and it's a pleasure to rediscover it as one of the better comedy horrors of the decade.
Keith and AJ (Chris Makepeace and Robert Rusler) are two kids looking to sleaze their way into the college fraternity. They intend to do so by hiring the ultimate stripper. With the help of the infinitely wealthy Duncan (Gedde Watanabe) they go to the city and find themselves at the After Dark strip club. It's owned by Katrina (Grace Jones), who also turns out to be their dream girl. What they haven't banked on is that the club is populated by vampire strippers, queen among whom is Katrina herself. A raunchy road trip turns into a desperate lunge for survival, as the bloodsucking bad guys close in on their prey.
Vamp is pure energy and efficiency: 90 minutes of gaudy, gory fun. There's always a wink in its eye: upon entering the city, the boys find themselves in the back alleys via a car accident, the vehicle spinning like the house of Dorothy Gale. One character quips, "We're not in Kansas anymore". After that it's a neon-lit nightmare all the way, impaled with Dario Argento-style pinks and greens.
The chemistry between the characters is a breeze. There's the easy banter between Keith and AJ, and the less-than-easy chemistry between Keith and Allison (Dedee Pfeiffer). Allison, an old flame of Keith's, may be oddly ignorant to the true nature of her murderous colleagues, but she's not naive; she may be bouncy and adorable, but she's no pixie dream girl. Duncan, meanwhile, embodies the swagger and impotence of 80s excess – his money buys them into trouble but cannot get them out again.
Then there's Grace Jones, whose unique persona is put to great use here. Her striptease is frightening and sensual. She's the original Lady Gaga and she's off the leash. She doesn't say a word throughout the whole film but she doesn't need to – her eyes and hair and clothes do all the talking.
The makeup effects are seriously special. Queen Katrina is a grotesque creation: the deliberate antithesis of Jones's pristine elegance. As for the excellent sound design, well, the noise of gorging on carotid blood has never been so fantastically disgusting and guttural.
As the film wears on it does begin to lose some of its initial spark. The final onslaught has more in common with a zombie horde than a pack of lethal vampires. The eerie atmosphere and the visual gags slip away – an early moment when the owner of a greasy spoon cafe dons a priest's robe and cross at the end of his shift is never topped – in favour of more ordinary action dynamics.
From frat house to strip club to sewer, Vamp is a far cry from the opulent castles of Stoker's myth. Its heightened grottiness is all its own, and its simple storytelling and memorable characters have stood the test of time. I watched it once on grainy VHS, and it's a pleasure to rediscover it as one of the better comedy horrors of the decade.