“Lads, Lads, Lads… and the End of Western Cinema”
Every now and then, a movie comes along that makes you sit back, stare at the screen, and ask, “Why does this exist?” Doghouse (2009) is that movie — a grotesque, beer-fueled frat dream disguised as a zombie comedy that thinks it’s clever when it’s actually just sticky.
Directed by Jake West (of Evil Aliens fame, if “fame” is the right word), this comedy-horror splatterfest follows a pack of British lads as they head to a remote village for a “boys’ weekend.” Their goal? To heal their mate Vince’s broken heart after his divorce. Their reality? They stumble into a town full of zombified, man-eating women. Their mistake? Believing any of this would be funny.
It’s like Shaun of the Dead if written by the guys who get kicked out of pubs before 9 p.m.
Welcome to Moodley: Population—Testosterone and Regret
Our merry band of meat-headed misfits includes Vince (Stephen Graham), recently divorced and bitter; Neil (Danny Dyer), a man whose moral compass is still being shipped from Amazon; and a supporting lineup of interchangeable “lads” whose main character traits are shouting, swearing, and failing to survive.
They board a bus driven by Candy (Christina Cole)—a woman who exists purely to be ogled and then zombified, which neatly sums up Doghouse’s approach to feminism. She drives them to the fictional village of Moodley, a town so quiet it might as well be under a supernatural curse—or simply suffering from low ticket sales.
Upon arrival, the men discover something is wrong: there are no women around. Which, for this group, is apparently the worst horror imaginable. (Well, that and the lack of beer.) But soon, they find out why: all the women have turned into shrieking, bloodthirsty cannibals. So, you know, a typical British Saturday.
The Plot (or What Passes for One)
Here’s the basic setup: a government experiment gone wrong has transformed the women of Moodley into grotesque, weapon-wielding monsters who feast on men. The lads must survive long enough to make a few sexist jokes, run around a lot, and die one by one in increasingly stupid ways.
It’s “comedy horror” in the same way that getting a fork stuck in the toaster is comedy electrocution.
Every scene feels like a rejected sketch from The Inbetweeners meets Resident Evil. There’s a zombified hairdresser who attacks with scissors, a giant butcher woman, and a zombie bride who seems personally offended by everyone’s haircut. The gags are broader than a pub door, and twice as sticky.
Somehow, Doghouse manages to insult both horror fans and women simultaneously—a rare and impressive feat.
Lad Culture: Now With Bonus Gore
Doghouse wants to be a satire of “laddishness,” mocking the kind of guys who talk big but run screaming when faced with danger. Unfortunately, it ends up celebrating the very thing it’s pretending to critique.
The jokes mostly revolve around women being scary, nagging, or both—then turning into literal monsters. Subtlety is not in the Moodley vocabulary. The film could have been an interesting commentary on male fear of emasculation… but instead, it plays like the world’s worst stag do.
Even the zombies seem embarrassed to be there.
Danny Dyer: The Human Beer Can
Let’s talk about Danny Dyer, the patron saint of Essex pubs and bad horror movies. Here, he plays Neil, the group’s resident jerk and moral vacuum. Dyer spends most of the film yelling “Oi!” and calling women “birds” while running away from them—a performance so self-parodic that it’s unclear whether he’s acting or simply unaware that the cameras are rolling.
To his credit, he does bring energy to the role—like a pint of lager that’s been shaken too hard. He’s loud, brash, and perfectly suited to a movie that mistakes misogyny for character development.
By the end, Neil’s still alive, proving once again that in horror movies, the most irritating character always survives just to annoy you further.
Gore, Giggles, and Groaners
The film is at least committed to its blood-splattering aesthetic. There are decapitations, mutilations, and enough fake blood to irrigate a small farm. It’s all meant to be over-the-top and cartoonish, but the humor rarely lands.
The jokes are as dated as a 2009 Myspace page, relying on gay panic, fat-shaming, and women-as-predators tropes that feel like they escaped from a rejected Carry On script.
And yet, there’s a kind of tragic sincerity to it. You can almost hear the filmmakers shouting, “It’s satire!” while tripping over their own punchlines.
The special effects are fine for a low-budget splatter flick, but when your most memorable moment involves an overweight zombie gnawing on a man’s finger, you know you’ve hit cinematic rock bottom.
The Military Subplot No One Asked For
About halfway through, the film throws in a random soldier who explains that the female apocalypse was caused by a biological weapon disguised as washing powder. Because apparently the writers thought “toxic masculinity” wasn’t literal enough.
He also has a “sonar control box” designed to stop the zombies with sound waves, but it malfunctions faster than a PlayStation 2 disc. By the time it’s smashed beyond repair, the audience has already reached the “please just end” phase of viewing.
There’s also a politician named Meg Nut—yes, Nut—who appears briefly via video call to dump exposition and vanish, presumably to find a better script.
The Ending: Proof That God Has Abandoned Us
By the end of Doghouse, almost everyone is dead, eaten, or reduced to comic relief paste.
Our “hero” Vince (Stephen Graham, clearly paying off a debt to his agent) declares that he’s done being a “nice guy” since all the nice men are dead and the jerks survived. He vows to start being more of an ass. Cue ironic laughter. Cue the undead horde returning. Cue the audience wondering if there’s a refund policy on their streaming service.
The survivors flee into the night, laughing as the camera fades out. Not because anything is funny—but because when you’ve made it through this much nonsense, laughter is the only rational response left.
Visual Style: BBC Budget, Lad Bible Soul
Visually, Doghouse looks fine—for a student film shot behind a pub. The sets are small, the lighting is dim, and the camera work suggests someone discovered zoom halfway through production and refused to stop using it.
The infected women are the highlight: creative makeup, gnarly prosthetics, and a genuinely creepy design here and there. If only the script had treated them as characters instead of punchlines.
Instead, every zombie woman looks like she just crawled out of a rejected Slipknot music video.
Final Thoughts: A Howl of Pain and Pint-Stained Regret
Doghouse could have been a sharp satire about male insecurity, toxic masculinity, and gender conflict. Instead, it’s a beer-soaked, brain-dead romp that thinks “misogyny, but ironic” counts as social commentary.
It’s occasionally entertaining in a trainwreck way—you can’t look away from the absurdity—but it’s also exhausting. Watching it feels like being trapped in a pub toilet while six drunk blokes debate whether zombies count as “fit if they weren’t dead.”
The gore’s fine. The pacing’s manic. The humor’s fossilized. And the message, if there is one, seems to be: “Maybe women should eat men.”
By the end, you’ll find yourself cheering for the man-eating mutants—at least they have ambition.
Grade: D+ (for “Doggedly Dumb But Accidentally Honest”)
Doghouse is a movie that wants to bite satire but ends up chewing its own leg off. It’s gory, loud, and deeply stupid—but hey, at least it’s consistent.
The true horror? Realizing that this was meant to be funny.
