So it’s come to this: Zombeavers. If this isn’t a sign of the apocalypse, I don’t know what is. I don’t want to know what is. Sean’s cousin pointed me toward this gem and I can’t thank her enough.

The worst thing about this movie is that it doesn’t really know it’s a joke. It tries to be a real movie. There’s no parody here (I mean, can you even parody a parody?), no wink toward the audience. It’s genuinely, earnestly a movie about zombie beavers.

Okay, that’s not the worst thing. But it’s a very bad, terrible thing.

Is it outrageous? No. It’s tired. The beaver jokes start almost immediately (to call it innuendo is aiming a bit too high, considering the script…innuendo implies something clever is happening, and there is NOTHING clever happening) unless you count the title, in which case the first and only joke is made before you even start the movie. If you’ve seen the poster, you’ve seen enough.

Bill Burr and John Mayer in a handlebar (believe it) open this thing up with a discussion about shitting in your friend’s house. It turns out that this would be the high point of the film (plus or minus the gratuitous dick pics), and it shouldn’t come of much of a surprise that it’s these two chuckleheads responsible for the whole zombified beaver mess.

Cue the pretty people partying and sexing it up in a secluded cabin in the woods. The script refers to them variously as college kids and sorority sisters but leaves the audience wondering which college exactly lets in kids who don’t know what a beaver dam is, or a landline for that matter. There is near-immediate toplessness (admittedly some pretty great tits) but then the douchebag boyfriends show up and a round of pointless fuking ensues.

A fun drinking game to play while watching this movie (and believe me, you’ll want to be on the vodka train for this doozie) would be to guess which douche is the first to bite the dust. Or better yet: which douche goes for a swim in the lake and comes back holding his own severed foot?

But wait! These zombeavers aren’t just hungry for human meat, they’re also quite devious. They don’t just sever feet, they also sever phone lines.

By the way. This movie goes the way of some 80s classics of the genre, eschewing effects for animatronics which are inevitably terrible. You’ve seen better animatronics on the 25 cent carousel in front of your grocery store. They’re not funny, they’re not scary, they’re just beaver puppets and totally, totally regrettable. A real dog is thrown in as beaver-bait and when he dies, so does the best actor in the bunch.

The worst actor of the bunch, “Hutch Dano”, does in fact “play” a very convincing dickwad. What he fails to convey with any aplomb is “guy hammering a nail.” Seriously. Watch this guy hammer a nail. And then watch him play whack-a-mole when the beavers start popping up through holes gnawed in the floor.

And if you thought the zombeavers were bad (and they’re godawful, truly), you should see what happens when a human gets bit and morphs into a zombie-beaver-human hybrid. It’s almost poetic and the costume lady seems to have saved herself some time by reusing the Miley Cyrus’s redneck teeth she bought for Halloween. Two birds, meet one stone. Love it.

There are a lot bad choices in this movie, but there is one redeeming factor: this movie clocks in at just 71 merciful minutes. So there’s that.