Club Dread

A robed, machete-wielding psychopath, possibly missing his penis, lurks in the woods on Coconut Pete’s Pleasure Island, a cheesy resort off Costa Rica for oversexed twentysomethings. Slathered in booze, blim, and banana oil, the employees and guests don’t realise they’re trapped in a horror movie; but nor does this goofy, genial shriek-spoof, courtesy of American comedy quintet Broken Lizard, merely dredge its gags from the recycling bin. A stoner homage to hormone-addled slasher flicks of yore, most obviously the ‘Friday the 13th’ franchise, ‘Club Dread’ capitalises on the troupe’s sketch-comedy background with many a punchy set piece. Director Chandrasekhar lazily essays a plummy-voiced, perpetually indignant Brit tennis instructor, but Kevin Heffernan’s magic touch as the masseur with voodoo fingertips occasions what is possibly the best double spit-take ever committed to celluloid.