Members Club (2024) Review

For the male stripper group Wet Dreams, business is not exactly booming. The bottom has fallen out of the market for four middle-aged blokes taking their kit off and, after a disastrous booking at a birthday party, it looks like it’s time to call it a day. However, front man Alan (Dean Kilbey) decides to buy out longtime manager Deano (Liam Noble) and can’t believe his luck when he instantly lands the guys a lucrative gig in a rural part of Essex.

Of course, there’s a catch – and what a catch it is. Not only has Alan not read the small print about the specific outfits he and his mates will be required to don, neither he nor his mates is prepared for the part they’ve been lined up to play in a ritual which plans to bring a murdered 16th century witch back from the dead. They’re even less keen when they find out which appendage they’re going to be sacrificing for the cause…

Writer/director Marc Coleman’s blend of geezer banter and gloopy gruefest is at its strongest in the first act as the viewer is introduced to a quartet who clearly rode the popularity generated by the initial 90s wave of erotic dancers such as the Chippendales and decided to keep going, regardless of changing circumstances. It’s a ridiculous conceit which works because the group has no delusions of grandeur as to their dubious talents and a sampler of their typical routine during the opening credits cements that fact.

Each, er, Wet Dreamer might be sketchily drawn but at least they have some detail attached: Alan has daughter issues since his wife passed away; Ratboy (Mark Monero) has the patter down to entice many a dodgy property viewer; Carly (David Alexander) appreciates a more mature lady; and Neil (Perry Benson) is made up with love once more after reconciling with unseen (and clearly cheating) partner Charlene. This provides the bedrock for the comedy in the first half an hour, as well as introducing aforementioned daughter Daisy (Barbara Smith in goth rock mode).

To be fair, I approached Members Club with some trepidation because the idea of lads – whatever their age – going up against a group of women has me breaking out in a cold sweat as I recall Lesbian Vampire Killers. Thankfully, for all its flaws, Members Club is a long way from that. A sizeable portion of the film’s jokes may reside below the waist for much of its running time and it often doesn’t know how far to push a joke but as a midnight movie, enjoyed with an alcoholic beverage or too, you could do far worse.

When the horror kicks in, it’s mostly of the ridiculous type but there are some grisly deaths that seem out of place with the knockabout antics of the opening stanza and the tonal shifts jar slightly, especially when the tale switches back to delivering eye-rolling lines such as “It’s cock o’clock!” or lurching into a bizarre sequence involving a talking cheese and pineapple hedgehog voiced by the always welcome Alan Ford.

The broad strokes of the humour, particularly an inevitable obsession with knob gags which runs alongside the idea for the tale’s central MacGuffin, are unlikely to land with anyone looking for a little subtlety but there are touches of invention here and there including a novel approach to constructing a ceremonial mask employed by fledgling witch Joanne, played by the excellent Juliet Cowan in an all too brief role.

While we’re on the subject of extended cameos, I need to talk about the work of two other performers. Firstly, the consistently hilarious Steve Oram, showing up frustratingly intermittently as club doorman Blind Brian, an utterly insane creation that needed more airtime. He’s responsible for the one moment in this that genuinely made my gorge rise. Secondly, Peter Andre. Yes, that Peter Andre, appearing as a lush-maned character called Adonis. Do you know what? He’s rather good.

If I reveal that the opening shot of Members Club is of a road sign which announces, “No Dogging,” you can probably make a reasonably informed decision as to whether the following ninety minutes is for you. The Alan/Daisy subplot bogs down the middle section, as does a Green Room-style predicament for the survivors as they find holed up in the, er, green room but the ultimate showdown brings back the daftness in spades and it all wraps up agreeably, if unspectacularly.

Members Club may not lean into its inherent wackiness nearly as much as it should and a couple of plot threads don’t develop much beyond bullet points but it’s a surprisingly fun ride for anyone who doesn’t expect Noel Coward levels of wit (if you do expect that, did you read the synopsis?) and doesn’t mind the sight of detached dicks. It’s got Chas And Dave on the soundtrack too. Who’s going to be mean to Chas And Dave?

Movie Rating: