Summary
Given the twin elements of murder-mystery and pot-induced hazy humor, Club Dread's queasy mix of beheadings and hedonism feels like a Cheech and Chong variation of Agatha Christie's 10 Little Indians. There are a host of other cinematic references: the widescreen tracking shots that recall director John Carpenter's Halloween; M.C. Gainey as [Pete]'s longtime head of security, a riff on Robert Shaw's old salt from Jaws; and the finale with the wacko as an unkillable fiend straight out of the Friday the 13th flicks. Still, why the Broken Lizard gang thought that the Scream body-count genre is forever ripe for laughs makes one wonder just what they've been smoking, as this very uneven blood-spattered spoof, which lacks Super Troopers' consistently humorous pacing, eventually wears out its welcome.
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Extract
Club Dread.
(Fox Searchlight; 104 minutes; R; widescreen; 2004). Life and death's a beach in this middling slasher satire from the Broken Lizard comedy troupe, which ...
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