The comedian-filmmakers broach the doc’s central subject with crass and offensive standup routines that wouldn’t be out of place on the Blue Collar Comedy Tour.
It may suggest an Alien incarnate, but once you get past its exterior, it’s as empty as outer space.
An unbearably stupid exercise in gore that deserves to die the same cruel, soulless death that nearly every character does at some point in the film.
It bows fully to hedonism in lieu of all the scholarly theories on disco’s lasting impact—a tidy but gutless way of tying together so many disparate arguments by such disparate people.