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He was sitting in a low camp chair in a short-sleeved button up with cute little fish swimming across it.

“It’s a comment on culture. Also, there’s high camp vs. low camp. And there’s an invisible wink of camp.”

“Prisoners were killed all the time for far less. But he could tell by the low camp numbers on our uniforms that we were both old-timers. He was one himself. Maybe that was why.”

But Ms. Shor delivers them with such exquisitely mannered wit that she turns low camp into high elegance.

Less scary than freaky, it's deliberately unhinged—light horror about low camp, a showcase for scenery chewing and giddy blasphemy, an exploitation chamber piece.