This murder-by-numbers sis-boom-slasher is the unfortunate result of nearly 20 years of Night of the Living Dead folk OTHER THAN GEORGE ROMERO itching to cram more lightning into a bottle.
No zombies, just a camo’d goon stalking and slitting the gizzards of comely baton twirlers, but ONLY after they’ve had an opportunity to shimmy out of their leotards.
Among about nine subplots are a gang of greaser drug dealers (the leader of which knocks up the randiest of the squad), a sect of neo-Baptists and a thick-accented nurse who tortures her mute, geriatric charge with verbose James Bond villain-esque explanations of how she and her idiot-pervert-shutterbug son are gonna do in the old bag and her teen-dream granddaughter.
The result is akin to the fleeting joy of a cheap Chinese buffet (with explosions).