When you go see "Grindhouse," it's best to enter the theater with the mindset of 15-year-old boy sneaking into a wholly inappropriate double-feature with copious amount of gore, nudity, foul language, drug use, misogynistic attitudes, violence and spectacularly dangerous (and illegal) driving.

In other words, the movie is a whole heck of a lot of fun - in a debauched sort of way. It's the type of film designed to send your favorite Sunday School teacher into a twitchy fit of apoplexy.

If you're easily offended - or the least bit queasy - you should probably skip "Grindhouse," or at least shield your eyes from the screen when a zombie pops a pus-filled boil into Josh Brolin's face.

The three-hour-plus film is the twisted concoction of directors Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino, who obviously spent their formative years watching grade-Z exploitation films. You know, the zombie films of Italian schlockmeister Lucio Fulci, any of those leering-women-in-prison films from the 1970s or the have-sex-and-die slasher films from the 1980s.

The way the directors set up their affectionate send-up, it's as if you're attending a double feature in a run-down theater - right down to the scratchy print, warbly sound and cheesy slide-show advertisements. They even include trailers of cheesy upcoming movies, including "Werewolf Women of the SS" and "Don't," which looks suspiciously like a knock-off of the cult classic (and scary as hell) "The Legend of Hell House."

Rodriguez kicks things off with "Planet Terror," a film that Fulci would have loved. The thin story has something to do with nerve gas turning the inhabitants of a small Texas town into pus-dripping zombie cannibals. It's up to the mysterious Wray (Freddy Rodriguez, from "Six Feet Under") and his ex-girlfriend and stripper Cherry (Rose McGowan) to save a small band of survivors from the shuffling hordes.

Rodriguez keeps things moving at a frenetic pace, keeping the screen awash in blood, flying body parts and oozing pus. Along the way he stops only long enough to show the danger of giving a 9-year-old a handgun, introduce us to what may be the worst teenage baby sitters in the history of cinema and present a deliriously funny running gag about Cherry losing a leg, which is first replaced by a broomstick handle, then an assault rifle with and grenade launcher. (You have to see it to believe it.)

After the nonstop, perverse action of "Planet Terror," Tarantino's "Death Proof" is at first a shock to one's system. Full of Tarantino's patented rambling, pop-culture-fueled monologues, the film represents a jarring change of pace that takes some time to get used to.

But once you adjust to Tarantino's rhythm, "Death Proof" serves up as many pleasures as the more crowd-pleasing "Planet Terror."

The story revolves around a creepy guy named Stuntman Mike (Kurt Russell), who uses his souped-up muscle car to do some pretty awful things to attractive women. The odious Stuntman Mike, though, meets his match when he runs into some female stunt doubles (Rosario Dawson, Tracie Thoms and the wondrous Zoe Bell) who teach him a brutal lesson about treating women poorly.

In "Death Proof," Tarantino proves he's equally deft at staging car scenes as he is writing dialogue. The film's 15-minute car chase is one of the best action scenes in years, paying tribute to the great car films of the 1970s, such as "Vanishing Point."

So, who should go see this film? Anyone who remembers sneaking into a movie or renting a video that you knew your mother would not condone. Yep, the three-hour celebration of depravity is completely juvenile, but "Grindhouse" is a blood-drenched guilty pleasure.

Rated R, for strong graphic bloody violence and gore, pervasive language, some sexuality, nudity and drug use.

James Ward is the entertainment editor of the Visalia (Calif.) Times-Delta and Tulare (Calif.) Advance-Register. Watch his movie reviews online at www.KSEE24.com/movies or write to him at jward@visalia.gannett.com.