Z. Winston Brown strikez again. The director who unleashed the plaguez known az Vampiyaz and Zombiez returnz with the “z”-grade Bloodz vs. Wolvez. Saying that this is the best of the three films is an insult to the word “best.”
It’s basically an urban bastardization of Underworld, pitting an underprivileged werewolf class against upper-crust vampires. The sight of a werewolf with cornrows on the cover art might seem a bit corny, but believe me, you’ll wish the werewolves in this movie looked like that. Instead, they have fangs and long fingernails. That’s it. No fur. No wet nose. Not even pointy ears. In fact, the only way you can tell the “Bloodz” from the “Wolvez” is that the vampires dress in suits or faux Matrix attire.
I give the film some credit for its allegorical portrayal of class struggles within the African-American community (assimilation vs. “keeping it real”), but despite its best efforts, shit always rises to the top. And boy is there plenty of it. The acting and script are spotty yet passable, but where the movie goes below and beyond is in its production value (Can’t they even afford simple blood squibs when people get shot?) and direction.
Brown basically has an epileptic seizure behind the camera every time something happens so you don’t realize that: A) the action sequences are completely lame, or B) the setting isn’t what it’s supposed to be, as in one scene where the actors are supposed to be in a bank but are actually in somebody’s crappy apartment. Close enough! The less said about the scene in which a werewolf takes a dump on a newspaper, the better. Damn you, Z. Winston Brown, damn you and your zhitty movies.