As lifeless as the corpses that pile up in mousy Carol Kane's basement.

Extra points for liberal use of chicken innards as wholesale gore. Minus points for not being funny enough.

A wry and intellectual romp through B-movie cliches -- without stinting on the gore and mayhem.

Despite running only 81 minutes, Sherman's debut feels distended, perhaps because it flutters around from black comedy to Grand Guignol to character study, rarely touching down on any of the above.

It can't decide what it wants to be -- slasher fest, social satire or revenge comedy -- and ends up being an awkward goulash.

It's more disturbing than finding half a cockroach in a Fluffernutter sandwich.

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