In recent years, there has been a noticeable shift away from the somber, so-called "elevated horror" that has dominated the genre over the past decade. You’re likely familiar with the type: think Hereditary (2018), The Witch (2015), It Comes at Night (2017), The Lodge (2019), It Follows (2015), Saint Maud (2019), and The Babadook (2014). While it's been compelling to explore themes of repressed trauma, grief, and guilt, there’s only so much heaviness audiences can take. The recent surge of bold, vibrant releases over the past couple of years has provided a welcome reprieve from the relentlessly grim tone of earlier films.

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A prime example of this shift from the bleak to the playful, yet still shocking, is Blumhouse's remake of Speak No Evil. The original film was a tense, harrowing experience that left viewers feeling somewhat hollow, whereas the American version embraced a more schlocky, self-aware tone. Similarly, titles like The Substance, Trap, Abigail, M3gan, Bodies, Bodies, Bodies, and Barbarian demonstrate that humor remains a vital element in horror, injecting a sense of fun into the fear.

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Then there's the subgenre of outright horror-comedy. These films are admittedly not everyone’s favorite, and truly exceptional entries are rare. Still, Freaky (2020) offers a good time, and What We Do in the Shadows (2014) along with Cabin in the Woods (2012) are standout examples. However, if we’re being honest (and perhaps a bit biased), the last genuinely hilarious horror comedies were Shaun of the Dead (2004) and Hot Fuzz (2007). As British films, they hold a special place in our hearts, but since then, it’s been slim pickings for us Brits. Films like Slaughterhouse Rulez, The Boys from County Hell, and Grabbers were ok but didn’t quite hit the mark.​ That's why the release of Members Club, an indie horror-comedy described by its own director as "From Dusk Till Dawn meets Magic Mike” has sparked some cautious optimism. Could this be the film to end the dry spell and revive the British horror-comedy tradition?

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Wet Dreams are a troupe of down-on-their-luck, middle-aged male strippers whose waistlines may be expanding while their client list remains disappointingly slim. After a disastrous booking at a 12-year-old girl’s birthday party—a classic administrative blunder—their exasperated manager, Deano, decides to call it quits. However, Alan (Dean Kilbey), the determined leader of the group, is not ready to give up just yet. Desperate to earn some money and reconnect with his estranged daughter, Daisy, Alan takes the reins of the struggling business. Daisy, still reeling from her mother’s death, has little patience for her father, who’s been largely absent and is now renting a room in a student flat, juggling stripping gigs with a side hustle as a camboy. Yet, Alan’s fortunes seem poised for a turnaround when he receives an enticing offer to perform at a village hall in the middle of nowhere. With promises of a lucrative payout, he persuades the rest of the gang to join him for one last hurrah. The crew includes Ratboy (Mark Monero), the fittest member who doubles as an estate agent, and the laid-back duo Neil (Perry Benson) and Carly (David Alexander), whose enthusiasm for their stripping career is as sagging as their spirits. Even the long-suffering Deano agrees to tag along for one final gig.

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But upon arrival at a dilapidated venue in the middle of nowhere, the team quickly senses that something is amiss. The overly eager hostess welcomes them with open arms, yet the club appears eerily deserted, and the receptionist’s behaviour is more than a little strange. It isn’t long before Wet Dreams realise they’ve stumbled into a bizarre nightmare involving ritual sacrifice and a 16th century witch. Not quite what they bargained for.

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Witches today are often portrayed not as the terrifying, malevolent old hags of folklore, but as symbols of repressed women reclaiming power in a patriarchal world (you go, girl!) However, Members Club leans into a more traditional approach—revelling in a straightforward narrative where a group of geezers face off against an old crone determined to emasculate them, quite literally. There’s little room for subtext when the film serves up nob jokes at a rapid clip, but that’s part of its charm. While horror often uses its platform to explore social and cultural issues, sometimes it’s refreshing to simply sit back and enjoy something a bit more light-hearted. If one of the many crass jokes misses its mark, it hardly matters—another one will be along shortly, and there’s a good chance it will land.

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The humour is undeniably coarse and unsophisticated, yet it’s frequently laugh-out-loud funny. Director Marc Coleman deftly balances the pacing of punchlines, with a cast that’s largely adept at delivering them. Of course, comedy is as subjective as horror, so it may not resonate with everyone. But if you’re drawn to a film about oafish male strippers squaring off against a centuries-old witch, you’re likely already prepared for a certain level of crudeness. The horror elements are equally unrestrained, featuring scenes where tongues are ripped out, body parts are gruesomely detached, and elderly characters are assaulted - all designed to elicit more grimaces and chuckles than genuine discomfort. Well, apart from the cock trauma. That’ll have a lot of men covering their crotches for sure. The practical effects, though clearly limited by budget, are delightfully over-the-top, adding to the film’s irreverent tone.

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Coleman deserves recognition for crafting a film that looks and feels polished despite its indie constraints. Low-budget horror films often suffer from uneven execution, but Members Club punches above its weight, maintaining engagement with a punchy script and a mix of grotesque set-pieces. The narrative attempts to deepen its emotional impact and up the stakes by exploring an estranged father-daughter relationship, which serves as a surprisingly effective emotional through-line. Dean Kilbey’s portrayal of Alan manages to blend family drama, absurdist horror, and bawdy comedy, making his character relatable - even if he’s far from an ideal dad.

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Is it as clever or as hilarious as the Cornetto Trilogy? No, it falls short in that comparison, but then again that’s a rather high benchmark. Its method of extracting laughs may start to wear thin after an hour, but the film’s straightforward and unapologetically old-school approach gives it a charm of its own. For those seeking a blend of crude laughs and outrageous horror, Members Club might just be the throwback they’ve been waiting for.