Though it could probably use an intermission, Grindhouse is three hours of mostly campy fun.

It's all about big guns and spewing guts as directors Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez each direct a horror film in this double feature harking back to 1970s action exploitation movies.


Rodriguez's Planet Terror is an homage to zombie movies, while Tarantino's Death Proof pays tribute to highway action thrillers. Rodriguez's way-over-the-top horror flick is funnier in a silly way, but Tarantino's white-knuckle thrill ride has sharper dialogue and one of the most dazzling car chase scenes in recent memory.

Planet Terror drags in parts and the visuals get repetitive. The frequent shots of hideous zombies chowing down on their victims grow dull and numbing. (How many ways can a flesh-eating creature devour its prey?) But some of the visuals (like unusual uses for severed body parts) are ghoulishly inspired.


Freddy Rodriguez, who is light-years away from his busboy role in Bobby, plays the ostensible hero when a mysterious plague overtakes a town. He's Wray, the quickest draw and surest shot in town. His lover, go-go dancer Cherry Baby (Rose McGowan), is about to change careers and become a stand-up comedian. That dream is dashed when her leg is broken off and eaten by zombies. Similar groan-inducing puns abound. When a patient with a head injury is admitted to the hospital, a doctor declares: "It's a no-brainer" — and he's not referring to the simplicity of the procedure required.

Wray supplies Cherry with an impressive firearm as a prosthetic, and the limber dancer fires off rounds by spinning it around. Moments of fancy footwork and inspired lunacy vie with tedious dialogue and too many marching zombies.

Speaking of zombies, Rob Zombie directs Werewolf Women of the S.S., one of the very funny fictional trailers between the films. And there's the hilarious Don't, a cheesy Thanksgiving horror film.

Death Proof is a slasher/revenge fantasy with a female empowerment theme. Kurt Russell plays Stuntman Mike, a leering scar-faced creep who wields his souped-up car as a weapon. He is the only male character of note in a film with strong female performances, including those by Tracie Thoms, Rosario Dawson, Zoe Bell and Sydney Tamiia Poitier.

Though its length and gratuitous blood and guts could put some people off, if you're in the right mood, Grindhouse is a rowdy jolt of quasi-nostalgic escapism.