As an on-screen presence, Quentin Tarantino is about as popular as Osama Bin Laden. So for a horrible moment it seems that Robert Rodriguez is going to spoil the smartly cast fun of Planet Terror by granting his old mate a late appearance as an obnoxious (surprise, surprise) soldier.

But jeers soon turn to cheers as Tarantino is subjected to the sort of grim fate he so richly deserves after nearly blowing the Grindhouse deal with the self-indulgent Death Proof.

His character is not the only one. Rodriguez has an absolute field day with his half of the exploitation jag, giving it the look of a film that’s been through a thousand clapped-out projectors and slinging around enough goop and gore to have you checking that your feet aren’t sticking to the floor.

Owing as much to John Carpenter’s Assault on Precinct 13 and The Thing as zombie king George A.

Romero’s Dead movies, Planet Terror takes the basic flesh-eating-mutants-on-the-rampage premise and injects it with a cocktail of delirious twists.

Following a trailer for the fake revenge caper ‘Machete’ (sadly not a coming attraction), the main feature kicks into gear with a stand-off between a crooked, testicle-collecting scientist (Lost’s Naveen Andrews) and a military madman (Willis) which results in the zombification of the nearby community.

Among the motley survivors trying to stay in one piece are Rose McGowan’s pole dancer Cherry, mysterious drifter El Wray (Freddy Rodriguez), scuzzy diner owner J.D. (Fahey), local sheriff (Biehn) and his useless deputies.

Adding to the mayhem, the relationship between Shelton’s nurse and her scumbag doctor husband Brolin goes hyperdermic when he discovers she’s about to leave him.

Nobody escapes unscathed. Dogs, kids, pensioners, doctors, nurses, soldiers, babysitters… if they’re not being mown down, blown up, gouged, stabbed or beaten to death, they’re being shot, chewed or ripped to pieces.

Unlike Tarantino, who always talks a good game but lost his grindhouse mojo about halfway through Death Proof, Rodriguez upholds the great traditions of exploitation throughout.

The Texan multi-tasker never allows the action to flag (its resumption after the ‘missing reel’ is inspired) despite taking every opportunity to let his camera drool over guns, guts, cleavage and butts.

Yet with objectification comes empowerment. Poor Cherry may lose her leg to infection, but after upgrading her wooden leg to a rocket launcher, she becomes girl power personified. It would have brought a tear to the late, great Russ Meyer’s eye.

Think carefully before digging into those movie nachos. Because if blood and guts don’t make you queasy, the images of ‘chronic herpetic lesions’ just might.

Elliott Noble