The Night of the Living Babes is directed by Gregory Dark, which is not his real name. His birth name is Gregory Hippolyte Brown. If your parents name you Gregory Hippolyte Brown, you have no choice but to direct porn. Then at some point, you decide to change your name to Gregory Dark—perhaps you think it’s edgier or you are trying to “go goth,” or you think it’ll land you better directing jobs. But it doesn’t matter because you end up helming White Bunbusters and Between the Cheeks III anyway. So my advice is to name your children wisely. Stick to the classics—and no crazy spelling either. English doesn’t need some kid named Päxtynn messing it up even more.
Chuck, Buck, and their girlfriends are at a BBQ. While burning wieners on the grill, Chuck brags about humping a girl in a bathroom. Buck does not approve.
“Every once in a while, a man has to enjoy the fruits of the world.”
“Are you trying to tell me that you’re gay?”
There’s discussion about complacency, relationships, and something about an assertiveness training seminar.
Chuck shows Buck an ad for a “zombie fantasy ranch”, aka a “new wave whorehouse.” I’m not sure when exactly zombies became new wave, but I’d guess it was around the time werewolves got into ska.
Chuck convinces Buck to go “have an adventure” with a bunch of “diseased women” and does an impression of a donkey in heat. I’ve never heard a donkey in heat, but I’d say the impression is excellent. The two make their way to Madam Mondo’s Zombie Palace (even though we were promised a ranch) and meet Madam Mondo who is a dude in drag. The guys choose their whores, who do not look like zombies, much less new wave ones. Buck makes love in his tube socks and floral boxers. Chuck dresses up like a semi-nude cowboy. Then they wake up wearing tutus and chained to the wall, and a whore offers them some Vienna sausages. Meanwhile, the guys’ girlfriends get suspicious and try to track them down.
The Night of the Living Babes is campy, absurd, and the textbook definition of dumb. This movie is dumber than a bag of hair. But, somehow it has a lot of charm. Everyone seems to deliver the camp and revel in the movie’s ridiculous, bone-headed premise. The costumes and set are dirt cheap; the walls were clearly decorated by a kindergartener with a Walmart gift certificate. There’s a stripper with dead eyes, topless girls in colorful wigs, cheesy video effects, plaid slacks, and a lot of talk about wieners (the kind you eat). There’s also a sex-change ray gun!
“They’re gonna turn us into women!”
“That’s worse than dying!”
The Night of the Living Babes feels like a parody of a movie no one’s ever watched—details are random and unexplained, but you end up just going with it. And why not? The movie’s only 57 minutes long.
