Slay Belles, not to be confused with the Ru Paul album of the same name, is a no-budget Christmas “horror comedy” that is not remotely scary, though it made me laugh. Twice. (I think it was twice. It might have been three times.) Like so many of these movies, there is more wrong with it than I can capture in a brief review. So I’ll try to cover the highlights.
Three women who are in “costumes” (of what? who knows?) go up to an abandoned Santa theme park (which is a real place!) and discover Krampus.
One of the women has been working steadily but the other two have few credits to their name, and there’s a reason: they both appear to be famous for reasons other than acting – one is a “Ghost Hunter” and one was a YouTube influencer. Do you think either of them is a good actor? Funnily enough, the YouTuber is better than the “Ghost Hunter”, who is sometimes so awful it’s hard to believe. (There’s one line she delivered where I asked Jenn if that was the best take and she suggested it might have been, or maybe the only one. both are good points.)
These women are scantily clad and there are boob shots (including some brief nudity) and even an up-skirt view. This begs the question: who is this movie for? Men can find women in costumes having sex all over the internet. And this titillation, ahem, is a far cry from that.
But the film isn’t remotely scary despite the direction of a guy calling himself “Spooky Dan”. Most of what the Krampus does happens in broad daylight and it’s clear that the director does not know how to create a scare. (He’s a makeup artist by trade, it seems. Which explains why he thinks makeup is enough.)
I did laugh at least two lines, which is something. That’s more than some horror comedies I’ve seen. But, even though this movie is really short, it still felt like not enough. And we definitely had more laughs attacking the film for its lack of budget than from any of the lines, most of which were not funny.
But, I’ve seen worse. And recently, too. This is a really bad movie, but I don’t recall ever seeing a boom mic or a camera when I shouldn’t have. And three of the cast were capable enough. (Poor Barry Bostwick, speaking of…) And it was far less unrelentingly joyless than the last bad movie Jenn and I watched.