Somehow, when a young collegian, toward the opening of "Vamp," paged through a sex magazine and uttered the cri de coeur -- "Hey, guys, boob-o-rama!" -- I knew that this was not someplace I wanted to be for the next 90 minutes.
For those of you out there who find life is something besides too short, "Vamp" tells the story of three buddies who, as part of their fraternity initiation, go off to hire a stripper for a party later that night. They fall into some kind of time warp and end up in a nightmare world designed like a second-rate New York nightclub, and populated by vampires.
But these young people are none too swift (which may be the only point of realism in "Vamp"), so they continue on their quest. At a bump-and-grindery, they are captivated by a stripper (Grace Jones) who appears to have borrowed her bikini from a junked appliance and her red fright wig from Bozo the Clown. In our heroes' minds, this is sexy. One of them goes backstage to hire her, and ends up with a neckful of fangs. This tragic hickey is the tip-off that something is dreadfully awry.
"Vamp" is stupid and crude and (yes, Ed Meese) dirty. Jones, who became famous for a hairdo that made her look like the USS Enterprise, here dons a hairdo that more closely resembles a football and, if her performance is any indication, carries the same contents inside.
Vamp, at area theaters, is rated R, and contains graphic violence, nudity and sexual situations.