If you’re the kind of person who would watch a movie called Bloodsuckers From Outer Space you’re probably going to like Bloodsuckers From Outer Space. It’s a blood-soaked comedy and a laugh-a-minute horror film. The shoestring production values only add to the effect while writer-director and all-around good Texas boy Glen Coburn sneaks in plenty of smart and weird little style moments.
The list of good horror-comedies is a short one. They’re tricky. The worst ones are too cutesy-pie. They make you feel like you accidentally ordered a non-alcoholic beer. By contrast, the best ones bring a certain maverick sensibility. They’re rude and ridiculous. They almost count on part of the audience not getting the joke. They trust that the weirdos will understand it.
And I’m a weirdo for this film. It’s one of the good ones.
The setting is one of those little middle-of-nowhere Texas towns. The kinda place that you might drive through and see billboards that bash the Democrats and push Bible quotes. Somehow, a wind carrying mysterious energy from outer space blows through and infects people with a virus that makes them collapse and puke up a few gallons of blood and die. About two seconds later though, the rise up as blue-skinned freaks with bulging veins all over their faces. They still walk and talk and behave a lot like themselves, but with one huge difference: they now want to bite people and drink everybody’s blood. I’m comfortable callin’ ’em zombies.
The good news is that our lead character (Thom Meyer) is so constantly being belittled by his family that in some way he’s kinda glad that this happened. His nagging uncle is now a bloodsucker from outer space. No reason to have uncomfortable family dinners with him ever again.
Plus, he’s teamed up with a cool girl who keeps a tank of nitrous oxide in the back seat of her car. Even if they can’t figure out what the hell is going on, they can still get high. I’ve heard of worse situations.
Meanwhile, a scientific think tank in “Research City” works to learn about what’s happening while a jerkface military general just wants to exterminate with the ol’ extreme prejudice.
Throw in a bunch of Grade Z punk rock on the soundtrack and you’ve got a film that beats The Return of the Living Dead to some of its own game by about a year.
Highly recommended to the brain-damaged, the far-out and the permanently pixilated.