When a Script writer has nothing -- and, I mean, NUH-thing -- to actually write -- and, I mean, NO ideas whatsoever -- he reverts to what he knows best: aggressively foulmouthed dialogue or porn or some combination thereof. Giving moral offense acts as a substitute for writing a story. The Writer opts in the pornographic direction in this one. A couple of guys are stealing people's blood for some reason. (Who cares?) Robert Englund plays some character who runs a club where: . . . men are seen kissing men (oh, my); . . . women are exposing their breasts (uh, huh); . . . and, black leather and deafening electronica are everywhere. Carnies are everywhere. Apparently, it is THEY who inherit the earth after WWIII or whatever. So, we should all start learning how to appreciate fiery baton- twirling. Drug use, "blow jobs," and -- oh, yeah -- some bit of an idea about people getting "zombiefied." Morally offensive. Stupid. A piece of junk. Don't bother.
Review of Dance of the Dead
