What it’s about: Edgy, put-upon bank robber Seth (Clooney) and his hot-headed, sexually violent younger brother Ritchie (Tarantino) are headed to Mexico after their latest crime spree. In order to make it over the border, they take hostage disillusioned preacher Jacob (Keitel) and his two teenage children, Kate (Lewis) and Scott (Liu), and commandeer the family’s RV. The tense group makes it to the Titty Twister, a rowdy bar south of the border where Seth and Ritchie are set to meet their contact, but rather than an ordinary biker bar, the sleazy place reveals itself as a nest of vampires, leaving them–and a few other motley patrons–to fight their way through until dawn.

Reflections: A thick slab of grindhouse schlock, this is not a movie meant to be taken seriously: Cheech Marin (in one of three different roles) gives an extended carnival-barker sales pitch for pussy. Tom Savini, whose character is named Sex Machine, has a penis-gun (or gun-penis?). The vampire band plays a corpse guitar. The gore, violence, Tarantino’s characteristic edge-lord dialogue, etc., are all turned up to eleven. There’s even a moment where Ritchie lingers lustfully on Kate’s feet. It’s indulgent, brutal, silly, gross, and that’s all kind of the point. Which is great, if you’re in the headspace for that kind of thing, and grindingly unpleasant if you’re not.

The script, based on a concept by makeup artist Robert Kurtzman, handed off to Tarantino in 1990, and realized after the success of Pulp Fiction, has a more interesting first half. For its various excesses, the tension played out between the five leads has some oomph to it–Seth knows Ritchie is unstable, but feels protective of him anyway; the two children, especially Scott, see their father’s loss of faith and no longer fully trust his judgment. The screws turn tighter, punctuated by bursts of violence and littered with smartly observed cultural reference. Once the blood-orgy of the second half begins, the absurdity turns up and the film loses some momentum–the vampires look silly, the gore flows like wine, and investment in the characters goes down. It’s all kind of awesome in a Gwar-concert, trash-spectacle kind of way, but doesn’t have the substance or smooth style of better work by everyone involved.

I feel like I’m being hard on it–it’s difficult to overstate the reputation of this movie, its bona-fide cult status that, growing up as a ’90s film nerd, was unavoidable. Clooney feels like he’s rehearsing the harried cool that he would perfect in later roles and Keitel brings an unusual gentleness to his struggling father character. Hayek is sexy and exudes power, even if she doesn’t have much to do. The makeup effects are great. And the silliness is genuinely fun if you’re not expecting all that much from it and can get past the gleeful ugliness. A movie to put on over drinks with friends, but not something for all tastes or moments.