Doghouse Review

Once upon a time, every film school berk with a camera wanted to be Guy Ritchie. Cockney rhyming slang dictionaries were consulted, Get Carter was deified, Vinnie Jones was in demand. It wasn't pretty. Then, in 2004, Shaun Of The Dead greased the pole for godawful horror comedies such as The Cottage and Lesbian Vampire Killers to follow in its world-beating wake. Simon Pegg and Co, it turns out, have a lot to answer for.

One of the first out of the starting blocks was Jake West's Evil Aliens in 2005. Keen enough to boast homemade CGI, but crap enough to star erotic model Emily Booth, it was at once impressive as a statement of intent and almost completely unwatchable. Armed with a budget, a concept and the Britflick equivalent of a name cast, West is back with this splatty sausagefest, but just because the cinematography's improved doesn't mean the content has.

We begin in what might be mistaken for an alternative England dreamt up by Benny Hill and George Best, but is actually present-day London. Irritating titlecards introduce the main players - a group of men so disparate you wonder how they know each other - as they leave their screeching WAGs for a holiday to "rediscover their inner blokes". A broken-hearted Stephen Graham cuddles last night's curry in bed. Danny Dyer quacks at a barmaid to "Shat ap!" then calls her a slag. Two gay men argue prissily. Everyone has 'Match Of The Day' ringtones. These are, you suspect, inner blokes that won't need much rediscovering.