Wibbling willies! This gore fest from Iceland starts as it means to go on: parked on a quiet back road, where a balding 1,000-year-old vampire has lured a middle-aged man into his car with the promise of a quickie. The vampire’s head lowers into his poor victim’s lap. “Not quite so hard,” the man implores, unheeded. Just three minutes into the film, we get sight of a dismembered member – the first of many to come. Filmed in trashy 1980s style, with plenty of red smoke and a synth-heavy soundtrack, Thirst is over-the-top and deliberately ridiculous, though I couldn’t stop myself yelping at one or two moments.

This is not a film graced by first (or even second) rate acting, though Hjörtur Sævar Steinason gives an entertaining performance as the vampire Hjörtur, all weary nihilism with the occasional wrench of spiritual anguish. One night, he takes a shine to a young woman called Hulda (Hulda Lind Kristinsdóttir), who is being harassed by local cops over the death of her brother from a drug overdose. After watching him split the skull of a local thug in two, Hulda is understandably petrified. But Hjörtur reassures her that he is only interested in men. One of the cops pursuing Hulda is Jens (Jens Jensson), a uniformed officer of retirement age. His wife is a religious crank in a tracksuit who makes broadcasts for TV warning that the end is nigh – which it certainly is for some of Reykjavík’s residents.

There is no meaning or message here, no obvious metaphor for the vampirism. Just a midnight movie with the spectacle of Hjörtur relieving his male victims of their dangly bits, and another vampire tucking into the internal organs of his (still living) victim. There is a lot of yuckiness, but not really any bite. Though one or two scenes – I’m thinking of Hjörtur tucking into hotdog with a twist (“I don’t eat processed meat”) – may be destined for cult status.