10/31/14 (Part Two): The Unblinking Eye

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31 Days of Halloween, Amy Lalonde, auteur theory, Chris Violette, Dawn of the Dead, Day of the Dead, Diary of the Dead, Film auteurs, found-footage films, George Romero, Greg Nicotero, horror franchises, Joe Dinicol, Josh Close, Land of the Dead, living dead, Megan Park, Michelle Morgan, Night of the Living Dead, Philip Riccio, R.D. Reid, Scott Wentworth, sequels, Shawn Roberts, student films, Tatiana Maslany, voice-over narration, writer-director, zombie apocalypse, zombies

At one point in Diary of the Dead (2007), George Romero’s fifth official “Dead” film, one of the characters wonders what compels us to stare at an accident but not offer assistance: we’ve become a society of cold, removed observers, she notes, as dead on the inside as the walking corpses that relentlessly hunt the living. It’s a thought-provoking observation and one that seems especially prescient in this era of social media and “cellphone journalists.” These days, Good Samaritans appear to be a thing of the past, concert-goers watch bands through their phones while standing three feet from the stage and the general public can receive nearly 24/7 celebrity updates via Twitter, Instagram, etc. Technological advancements have made it so that humans are more inter-connected than at any previous point in our history: never before has it been more possible for complete strangers on opposite sides of the world to “talk” than it is now. This, of course, makes it even more puzzling when close friends sit next to each other and text rather than, you know…speaking: never before have we been more connected yet simultaneously unplugged from the “real world.”

Like all of his “Dead” films, Romero’s Diary of the Dead is anything but a straight-forward zombie flick: Romero, after all, was the guy who inserted social commentary into the very DNA of the zombie film all the way back in 1968 with the incendiary Night of the Living Dead, taking on race relations, global unrest and the Vietnam War with equal aplomb. The follow-up, Dawn of the Dead (1978), took the very notion of consumerism and capitalism to task as survivors of the global zombie epidemic hole up in an abandoned shopping mall and live like royalty while the mindless flesh-eaters gather en masse outside the gate like so many rotting barbarians. Day of the Dead (1985) further explored Romero’s fascination with the notion of “evolving” zombies, as the undead gained more human attributes even as the actual human characters descended into a cartoonish maelstrom of prejudices, misplaced rage and violent tendencies. Romero followed up Day of the Dead twenty years later with the action-oriented Land of the Dead (2005), which tackled the eternal war between the haves and the have-nots, with the rich barricaded away from the world in a literal ivory tower before being turned into a smorgasbord by the living dead.

With Diary of the Dead, Romero takes an unflinching, if achingly obvious, look at the world of media and journalism, particularly the “infotainment” that has replaced our formerly unbiased news coverage as of late. Jason Creed (Josh Close), the student filmmaker at the heart of Diary’s storyline, has a very simple reason for being so compelled to finish his documentary about the zombie crisis, “cleverly” entitled “The Death of Death”: he wants to make sure that the truth makes it out there, somehow, amidst all the “conventional news resource bullshit.” In an era where it can sometimes be difficult to make out any individual voices, thanks to the excess of information bombarding us from every angle, Jason wants to be the voice of truth, a beacon in the wilderness: that he’s willing to constantly put himself and his friends in harm’s way to do so might make him some sort of martyr…or it might make him just as dangerous as the shuffling dead that continue to pop up everywhere.

Utilizing a found-footage aesthetic for the first time in the franchise’s history, Romero throws us right into the middle of the zombie apocalypse and gives us a front-row seat to the chaos, thanks to Jason’s unblinking camera and the host of other media (cell-phone videos, security cameras, news broadcasts) that help fill in gaps in the story. In some ways, Diary of the Dead serves as a kind of prequel to the other films (albeit one with a very different timeline), since it purports to show the period of time right after the dead begin to overtake the living. This ends up putting it in roughly the same time-period as Dawn of the Dead (1978), although the action has been wholesale moved forward about 30 years, which must certainly be the cost of doing business with a series that first kicked off in 1968.

As Jason and the rest of his film-crew, including Tony (Shawn Roberts), Ridley (Philip Riccio), Francine (Megan Park) and Eliot (Joe Dinicol) are out in the woods shooting a low-budget mummy epic (along with their film professor, Prof. Maxwell (Scott Wentworth)), reports begin to pour in about the dead returning to life and attacking the living. After opting to abandon his school project in lieu of turning his camera on the events around them, Jason leads his group back to their school so that he can meet up with his girlfriend, Debra (Michelle Morgan, whose voice-over narration quickly wears out its welcome). Everywhere they turn, however, there seems to be nothing but mounting danger. To make matters even hairier, the students notice that news broadcasts of the events are now being edited and given particular spins, slants which have nothing to do with disseminating the truth and everything to do with pushing forward an agenda.

Tension rises within the group, however, when Jason’s constant filming begins to wear on everybody: at one point, he even stays with his camera as its charging while the rest of his group are off trying to save one of their own. For Jason, his documentary is the only thing that matters now, a time-capsule that can explain the disaster to whoever manages to follow them. The rest of the group, however, tend to see things a bit differently: to them, Jason is hiding behind his camera in order to avoid facing the terrible reality that surrounds him. “There will always be people like you who want to document,” Prof. Maxwell scoffs at one point, venom dripping from every syllable. Even Debra begins to take her boyfriend to task, arguing with him about his unceasing focus on filming above and beyond everything else, including their personal safety. As the group begins to fracture and splinter, they all agree to make their way to the supposed safety of Ridley’s luxurious house. When they get there, however, they discover that their nightmare isn’t winding down: it’s just beginning.

Unlike Land of the Dead, Diary of the Dead is a distinctly more horror-driven enterprise, lacking the over-the-top action setpieces and overwhelming firepower of the fourth film while returning to the social commentary of the second film. On the surface, this would seem to make Diary a better “Dead” film than Land but, alas, that’s not necessarily the case. The acting here, for the most part, is a decided step down from the previous film, bringing us dangerously close to the over-the-top thespianism of Day of the Dead. The zombie elements, while well-done, almost seem a bit perfunctory, although there are two suitably gruesome setpieces involving a barbecued State Trooper and jar of acid to a zombie’s acid, respectively, that are pretty damn impressive. As with Land of the Dead, Greg Nicotero handled the zombie fx, which lends this a similar look, if on a decidedly lower budget.

One of the biggest issues with Diary of the Dead ends up being its highly melodramatic and constantly hectoring tone: so much of the film seems to devolve into amateurish young actors shouting at each other and sticking cameras in their faces that it sometimes has the feel of a student production, which is rather ironic considering the storyline. Michelle Morgan and Josh Close, in particular, get rather difficult to take seriously by the end since they’re both so damn intent on proving how serious they are: Debra’s voiceover is a constant presence in the film and, while it may deliver the occasional thought-provoking whopper (such as the aforementioned bit about modern folks and their detachment), it’s just as often prone to deliver ennui and vaguely revolutionary talk that does nothing but detract from the visual aspect of the film.

Unlike previous efforts like Night of the Living Dead or Dawn of the Dead (or even Land of the Dead, for that matter), the “message” in Diary of the Dead is right upfront and constantly shoved in the audience’s face: mainstream media is nothing but bullshit fear-mongering and independent news sources, whether individuals with cell-phones or underground agencies, are the only source for truth in an increasingly confusing world. It’s a great, valid message, one that I (personally) couldn’t agree more with. On the other hand, Romero is so heavy-handed with the message, so constantly “on-point” that it becomes wearing, after a while: the film is kind of like a street-corner preacher with an apple-box and a megaphone, shouting at passerby as they try to scurry away.

Where Diary really exceeds, surprisingly enough, is as a found-footage film. Romero addresses many of the inherent issues with found-footage films (added music/effects, unknown camera angles, constant filming during stressful situations) throughout the course of the movie and comes up with some rather reasonable twists on the formula. The film also handles its morbid humor in a more subtle way than Land of the Dead, recalling the drier tone of films like Night of the Living Dead or Day of the Dead. I’d also be remiss if I didn’t mention that the final scene of the film is amazingly powerful, easily the equal of the iconic final moments of the original Night of the Living Dead. It has the quiet horror, subtle irony and terrible beauty that has always marked the best of Romero’s work, whether zombie-related or not…it’s a purely cinematic moment and, without a doubt, the strongest in the entire film. Were there more moments like the final image, perhaps my ultimate opinion on Diary of the Dead would be a bit more positive. As it stands, however, I always find myself a bit disappointed by this film: any Romero is a good thing, of course, but I can’t help but wish for a return to the glory days.

10/31/14 (Part One): Better Late Than Never

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31 Days of Halloween, Asia Argento, auteur theory, Dawn of the Dead, Day of the Dead, Dead Reckoning, Dennis Hopper, Diary of the Dead, dystopian future, Eugene Clark, Fiddlers' Green, Film auteurs, George Romero, horror films, horror franchises, intelligent zombies, John Leguizamo, KNB Effects, Land of the Dead, Maxwell McCabe-Lokos, mercs, Night of the Living Dead, paramilitary groups, rich vs poor, Robert Joy, SImon Baker, social commentary, tanks, The Walking Dead, Tom Savini, writer-director, zombie films

As the wait continued for the follow-up to “Forefather of the Dead” George Romero’s Day of the Dead (1985), longtime fans of his brand of socially-conscious zombie carnage probably weren’t remiss in feeling that this particular ship had already set sail into the sunset. After all, Day of the Dead’s production was notoriously compromised due to financial constraints (Romero’s original plan to continue expanding the world that he created with Dawn of the Dead (1978) was, effectively, shot in the head and downsized to a “handful of survivors in a bunker” storyline after it all proved prohibitively expensive) and Romero appeared to have little success in attracting investors for another entry. For all intents and purposes, it looked like Romero’s zombies had finally stopped kicking, even if his filmmaking career continued to chug along with non-zombie efforts like Monkey Shines (1988), The Dark Half (1993) and Bruiser (2000).

But, to paraphrase another master of the macabre, “over time, even death may die” and Romero’s “Dead” fans finally got their long-delayed wish when Land of the Dead (2005), the official follow-up to Day of the Dead, finally roared into multiplexes. For the first time in 20 years, Romero’s shambling gut-munchers were once again duking it out for box-office dinero, hoping to infect a new generation of horror audiences. Anytime someone waits twenty years for something, however, there’s an inherent danger of irrelevance: after all, there have been twenty years of zombie films between Day and Land. Would Romero still have the goods or would this be another sad example of a master craftsman set adrift, helpless against the ever-changing zeitgeist of our modern era? The answer, as it turns out, would be a hearty “yes,” followed by a quieter, slightly more hesitant “perhaps.”

Radio broadcasts and images of zombie mayhem over the opening credits give us a shorthand version of the events leading up to the “present day,” which appears to reside in a decidedly dystopic near-future: zombies have, effectively, taken over the world, although small bands of survivors still carve out rough existences in the burned-out cities that litter the landscape of what used to be America. The living dead have continued to “evolve,” in a manner of speaking, which we witness first-hand as we see zombies attempting to play instruments, pump gas and carry on rudimentary conversations with each other. One zombie in particular, a large gas station attendant (Eugene Clark), seems to have more intelligence than the average gut-muncher and appears to serve as defacto “leader” to the zombies, organizing them into a more cohesive “army.”

Our plucky protagonist, Riley (Simon Baker), is the leader of a paramilitary group that serves as the last line defense for one of the anonymous, ruined metropoli that jut up from the landscape like scorched bones. Along with the obnoxious, conniving Cholo (John Leguizamo), best friend Charlie (Robert Joy), Mouse (Maxwell McCabe-Lokos) and the rest of the hardened former soldiers, Riley answers to the ultra-slimy Kaufman (Dennis Hopper), lord of the self-sustaining, high-rise paradise known as Fiddler’s Green. Fiddler’s Green, home to the city’s most wealthy and powerful, towers above the slums of the city like an unattainable Eden for the unwashed masses. While the poor and downtrodden carve out existences in a futuristic ghetto that makes Blade Runner (1982) look like Pasadena, the rich and powerful live it up in a combination skyscraper/shopping mall/luxury apartment complex that couldn’t be a more obvious metaphor if it wore a sign saying “Future zombie snacks.” The only thing standing between the 1% and the “walkers” are Riley, his troops and one badass tank known as Dead Reckoning.

While Riley hopes for a modest little piece of land somewhere relatively zombie-free, Cholo has much bigger ambitions: he wants to move into the Green and take his place with the hoity toity elements of society. After he’s doublecrossed by the odious Kaufman, however, Cholo steals Dead Reckoning and aims it right at Paradise: if Kaufman doesn’t pay up what he owes, Cholo will happily mulch the rich and famous with their own firepower…irony, thy name art Romero. Realizing that the only one who can stop Cholo is the guy who trained him, Kaufman enlists Riley and Charlie to return the tank to homebase and deliver the “traitor,” dead or alive. With the assistance of Slack (Asia Argento), a wannabe soldier who Riley rescues from one of the city’s zombie vs human cage matches, the trio are closer than ever to realizing their dream of getting the hell out of the city. All that stands between them is a former comrade, an indestructible weapon of war and a zombie army led by an undead “messiah” named Big Daddy. The stakes? Nothing less than the future of the entire human species.

With a budget almost five times that of Day of the Dead (albeit still “modest” by modern tent-pole standards) and a much bigger scope, it’s tempting to view Land of the Dead as the “proper” follow-up to the landmark Dawn of the Dead. While one could certainly make an argument for this (at the very least, Romero’s desire to fully realize his short-changed vision must have been the genesis for the project), it’s also pretty evident that Land of the Dead presents a natural progression from Day of the Dead, especially when one considers the continued “evolution” of the zombies. Bub may have learned to use a Walkman but the zombies in Land of the Dead can communicate with each other, use basic tools and weapons, strategize (on a basic level) and seem to experience basic human emotions, such as anger, sorrow and pride.

This, of course, has always been one of my main issues with Day of the Dead: the “humanization” of the zombies may dovetail nicely with Romero’s overarching themes of societal collapse and rebirth but it also has the (presumably unintended) effect of removing much of the inherent horror from the living dead: once the zombies start acting more and more like “us,” as it were, they cease to be monsters and begin the journey towards sympathetic characters. While this is still handled rather subtly in Land of the Dead (to a point), the scales tip completely by the time of Diary of the Dead (2007) and it’s pretty obvious that the zombies are now the “victims” while the humans are the “monsters.” While Land of the Dead’s finale is certainly thought-provoking, Riley’s ruminations on the possibility of a shared “promised land” for both human and zombie-kind put us on a much different philosophical plane than the apocalyptic climaxes to either Dawn or Day of the Dead.

None of this, by the way, is to argue for “dumber” zombie films: I’ve always felt that the social politics of Night of the Living Dead (1968) and Dawn of the Dead were one of the main reasons why those films will always be such complete and undeniable classics. There’s a delicate balance to be maintained, however, a balance that Romero appears to grow increasingly uninterested in as the franchise continues: perhaps the desire to make his films more than just “zombie films” fuels this although, to be honest, this is probably just the natural progression of his earlier films, albeit taken a bit far, at least for my personal tastes.

My biggest issue with Land of the Dead, ultimately, is that it ends up being a rather mediocre horror film, despite being an above-average action film. Romero has sacrificed most of the inherent chills and shocks of his first three zombie films in favor of rather repetitious “run and gun” scenes involving Riley’s mercs and the undead: we get treated to what seems an inordinate amount of rather cheap-looking action beats rather than horror setpieces like the inquisitive Hari Krishna or the semi-trailer fiasco from Dawn of the Dead. Land of the Dead is also a much different-looking film than either Dawn or Day: the zombie effects are all handled by KNB, rather than Tom Savini, which actually makes Land of the Dead a bit of a dry-run for the smash-hit TV show The Walking Dead. This is a minor quibble, obviously, since KNB’s designs are nothing to sneeze at, although discerning viewers will still notice the difference (KNB’s zombies are much more “technical” but Savini’s zombies always felt more “real” to me, strangely enough).

The one aspect where Land of the Dead vaults head and shoulders above its immediate predecessor, however, is the caliber of the acting. Quite frankly, Day of the Dead is still one of the most unpleasantly “shouty” films I’ve ever watched: every actor in that thing is pitching to the rafters and, at times, it feels more like a wrestling match than an actual film. Land of the Dead, by contrast, features some absolutely fine performances by the likes of Baker, Argento (Dario’s daughter) and Leguizamo, who I normally find to be excruciating yet who wear the role of Cholo like a spike-knuckled glove. I’ll admit that Robert Joy’s “idiot savant” role stretches credibility just a bit (he’s innocent, like a child, but also a crackshot sniper, like a plot device). Top of the class, however, is Hopper, like always, ruling the roost like some sort of megalomaniacal rooster. He’s predictably great, tossing off lines like “Zombies, man…they creep me out” with the joie de vivre that you expect from cinema’s favorite wild man. Even if everyone else in the movie stunk to high heaven, which they don’t, Hopper is still 1000% more charismatic than every actor in Day of the Dead combined.

Ultimately, Land of the Dead is what it is: a sequel that comes just about 20 years too late. While there’s an awful lot to like here and even some stuff to love (the bits involving the zombies’ fascination with fireworks are, to be honest, quite beautiful), this ends up being a pretty big step-down from Dawn of the Dead, despite being a better film, overall, than Day of the Dead (in my opinion, at least). As mentioned before, this is more of an action film than a horror film, for the most part, but it’s never anything less than watchable and, on occasion, has plenty of that old Romero moxie. This may not be Romero firing on all cylinders (by contrast, The Dark Half is a much, much better film) but I’ll take a “pretty-good” Romero zombie film over pretty much any other horror director’s fare any day of the week. Part of me will never stop wondering what might have happened if this had come a mere 5-10 years after Day of the Dead, however, instead of 20.

 

6/10/14 (Part One): The Men Who Make the Nightmares

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behind-the-scenes, blood-button effect, Bob Kurtzman, Day of the Dead, Dick Smith, documentaries, documentary, Donna Davies, Elijah Wood, Frank Darabont, George Romero, golden age of special effects, Greg Nicotero, Gross Anatomy, Howard Berger, Jack Pierce, John Carpenter, John Landis, KNB Effects, Kurtzman, Lon Chaney, Nightmare Factory, practical effects, Quentin Tarantino, Ray Harryhausen, Rick Baker, Robert Kirkman, Robert Kurtzman, Robert Rodriguez, Sam Raimi, special effects, special effects pioneer, Tom Savini, visual effects, writer-director-producer

When one is discussing the most influential special effects/make-up/visual effects artists in the business, there are a few names that always seem to come up: Tom Savini…Rick Baker…Stan Winston…Ray Harryhausen (RIP). Look closely, however, and you’ll notice another trio of names that seem to pop up in every other end credit scroll for the past several decades: Greg Nicotero, Howard Berger and Bob Kurtzman. Although they have plenty of individual credits to their name, the three would go on to form KNB Effects, one of the most influential and omnipresent effects studios to emerge since Lucas’ groundbreaking Industrial Light and Magic. Donna Davies’ fun and informative documentary, Nightmare Factory, takes an up-close-and-personal look at KNB Effects, with particular emphasis on co-founder Greg Nicotero, sfx godfather Tom Savini’s protegé.

Kicking off with a “greatest-hits” highlight reel that amounts to a fan-pleasing gore clip show (complete with pounding metal soundtrack), Nightmare Factory makes one thing abundantly clear: this one is aimed right at the genre fans who geek out on fantastic monsters, severed limbs, spurting blood, explosions and puppetry. We go through the history of KNB, which begins with the history of its key players: Greg Nicotero, Howard Berger and Bob Kurtzman. While we don’t get a whole lot of Kurtzman, who left the company a decade into its existence, we do get a whole lot of Nicotero and quite a bit of Berger. Luckily, Nicotero is an absolutely fascinating person, a life-long film and genre fan who’s devoted his entire life to making the impossible real. Long before KNB Effects was a twinkle in anyone’s eye, Nicotero and his younger brother, Bryan, were making their own movies, perfecting stunts, devising effects and props and, in general, being pretty amazing. A chance encounter with George Romero (during a family vacation in Rome, no less) led the 16-year-old Greg to a tour of Romero’s Dawn of the Dead (1978) shopping mall set and an offer to work on his next film, Day of the Dead (1985). This, in turn, led to Nicotero meeting effects god Tom Savini and the rest, as they say, is history.

After meeting and becoming friends on the set of Day of the Dead, Nicotero and Berger ended up moving in with a friend of Berger’s named Robert Kurtzman. The three became fast friends on the set of Sam Raimi’s Evil Dead 2 (1987) which led to the realization that they might be able to make something bigger of this. KNB Effects was born and, within short order, became a powerhouse in the world of movie special effects, particularly in the effects-heavy era of the late-’80s and early-’90s. KNB Effects reach was so widespread, in fact, that it extended to decidedly non-genre offerings like Gross Anatomy (1989) and Oscar-winner Dances with Wolves (1990). In fact, you’d be pretty hard-pressed to find a film with any kind of practical effect within the past 30 years that didn’t bear the mark of either KNB Effects, Nicotero, Berger or Kurtzman: the guys were just that ubiquitous in the industry! Some of the best parts of the film involve the footage of KNB Effects heyday in the late ’80s, where the studio had a wild, rock ‘n roll, party-hard attitude: most of the effects artists were also in rock bands, hung out together constantly, partied the night away and made monsters during the daytime. For a guy like me, this looked like pretty much the best place to work in the entire world. Fuck crazy Wall Street firms: the shenanigans at KNB looked like a whole lot more fun!

Although KNB Effects is just about as important as effect studios get (they even created the “blood-button” effect that has allowed generations of indie filmmakers to create gunshots on the cheap), the times are always changing and we feel the effects of this within the doc. Studios now want effects as quickly and cheaply as possible: there’s no longer time to lovingly craft effects in the same way that the artisans did twenty years before. While computer-generated imagery is a valuable tool when used hand-in-hand with practical effects, the tendency these days is to heavily rely on CGI, which can be much quicker and cheaper to utilize than practical effects but tends to have a disarmingly glossy hyper-reality that is no patch on the oftentimes rougher practical effects of bygone eras. It’s certainly a devil’s dilemma: filmmakers are always in a desperate need to save money, which makes CGI the only feasible reality for many low-budget productions, yet cheap CGI makes any film look bad, regardless of the general quality of the production.

There’s also the sad revelation, late in the film, that Nicotero doesn’t really think anyone will come around to replace them: no one has a burning desire to just make monsters these days, he says, at least not like in the days of Famous Monsters of Film Land, Ray Harryhausen and Tom Savini (at 68, Savini is now the elder statesman who used to be the infant terrible…he even has his own special effects training school). We do get to see a few members of the younger generation who were influenced by the ’70s-’80s pioneers, such as Edgar Wright, Simon Pegg and Robert Rodriguez, although we don’t really get to meet any of the new generation to whom Nicotero and the others will be passing their torch.

While Nicotero certainly has a history and perspective on the situation that I’ll never possess, I can’t help but feel that he’s dead wrong in that aspect: there will always be kids around who want to make monsters. As long as there are geeky outsiders who spend their childhoods reading monster magazines under the blankets, there will be special effects people. As long as there are kids who create backyard zombie epics featuring the contents of their fridge and an ocean of passion, there will be special effects people. We may very well come to a time when practical effects are no longer utilized in mainstream cinema, where CGI has become the all-encompassing cinematic creative force and where model-makers are as quaint as town criers. Hell, we may already be there. As long as there are still kids who grow up with the burning desire to make the magic themselves, however, to mold the clay and set the fuses and paint the models, to bring life to dead objects in the same way that Dr. Frankenstein once did…as long as these kids are still around, there will always be someone to carry on the flag. Nightmare Factory serves as a wonderful reminder of just what an important tradition this really is and a truly loving salute to those who continue to keep the tradition alive.

2/21/14: What’s in a Name?

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Alan Ford, Apple Dumpling Gang, Ashley Thomas, bank robbery, British films, British horror, cinema, Cockney rhyming slang, Cockneys vs Zombies, Day of the Dead, Edgar Wright, Film, film reviews, former Bond girl, getting old, Goldfinger, Guy Richie, Harry Treadaway, Honor Blackman, horror films, horror-comedies, Jack Doolan, Matthias Hoene, Mental Mickey, Michelle Ryan, Movies, old-age home, Rasmus Hardiker, Ray, Shaun of the Dead, Snatch, the East End, Tony Gardner, zombies

As a guy who dearly loves horror films in every make, model and vintage, I’m also someone who has to wade through more than the usual amount of crap. For every new film that blows me away, there are probably at least four (or nine) that inspire rabid cries of “Meh.” Part of the problem is that there are a lot of horror films out there: the genre has become sort of the “gateway-drug” for burgeoning filmmakers, if you will (although Corman will probably attest that it always was). Since there are only so many hours in the day, I often find myself having to make snap decisions about certain films as a form of pre-screening: if this is going to get 90 minutes of my time, it should probably be, at the least, entertaining. I’m actually a big fan of B-movies and “so-bad-they’re-good-films” but some films are just plain dull: moronic cash-grabs that were probably sold in bulk to online sites like Amazon and Netflix similar to how you can buy 50-gallon drums of ketchup at Sam’s Club. These films aren’t fun: they’re time-wasters and that time could better be spent with something genuinely wonderful/awful like Troll 2.

Sometimes I can tell by the production company: I always know what to expect with the Asylum or August Underground, for example, which is why I steer clear from pretty much anything with their names on it. Spectacularly crappy cover art can do it for me, too: if it looks like it was designed for a ’90s-era CD-ROM game, I usually pass. In this day and age of generic poster art, it’s getting harder and harder to use this as a reliable yardstick (most new films seem to have generic, terrible poster art) but some covers are just too damn obvious. If the film is directed by someone whose reputation precedes them (Uwe Boll, Michael Bay, Brian DePalma), I tend to proceed with extreme prejudice. Sometimes, however, one of the very best early warnings is simply the name of said film. If I recognize the name from a video game, I’ll probably pass. If the title features the phrase “The Terror of…” and isn’t followed by either Dracula or Frankenstein, I’m probably outta there. If there’s a “Vs” in the title (ala Strippers Vs Zombies, Strippers vs Werewolves), I’ll probably look elsewhere, although this particular rule is put to lie by a few films. There is, of course, the unmitigated awesomeness of Billy the Kid vs Dracula. There is Tucker and Dale vs Evil, possibly one of the finest horror comedies ever. And now, of course, there is Cockneys vs Zombies.

At first glance, Cockneys vs Zombies is just about as generic as it gets. We start with the lazy title, which seems to indicate exactly where the film’s sensibilities lie. There’s also the incredibly generic “zombie-arm-thrusting-up” artwork that graces the official cover art (the artwork for this particular blog comes from an alt cover, which usually tend to be more my speed). Put together, this is a film that I would probably pass by at any other time. I’d heard good rumblings, however, and I’m an unabashed lover of British cinema so I gave it a shot. The good news? Beneath the generic exterior, Cockneys vs Zombies is a rip-roaring comedy-crime-horror film that puts Guy Richie and Shaun of the Dead into a blender, pouring out a concoction that’s definitely more Shaun than From Dusk Till Dawn. This is a surprisingly good-natured film, despite the copious amounts of torn flesh on display.

The movie kicks off with a pretty cool sequence that introduces the zombie threat as the result of unearthing an ancient tomb rather than as the by-product of modern living. This jumps right into a dynamic, comic-book-inspired credit sequence that perfectly sets the mood for the rest of the film. Terry (Rasmus Hardiker) and Andy (Harry Treadaway) are a pair of brothers always one step over the line dividing “legal” from “go straight to jail.” Hard not to be, however, when their beloved grandfather Ray (Alan Ford) is one of the most notorious gangsters in London, albeit long retired. His retirement home is slated for demolition and Terry and Andy decide to do the only thing sensible: rob a bank with their moronic friend Davey (Jack Doolan), insane gun-runner “Mental” Mickey (Ashley Thomas) and locksmith cousin Katy (Michelle Ryan). As expected, the robbery goes ass-over-tea kettle mighty quick and the gang (which makes the Apple Dumpling Gang look like the Triad) are forced to take hostages. When they finally bluster out of the bank, however, they discover that everything, including the surrounding cops, has been over-run by your standard, garden-variety zombie outbreak. The group must work together (not always the easiest the easiest thing when one of your members is a hair-trigger gun-nut with a metal plate in his head) and make their way to Ray’s retirement home, where the decidedly non-helpless septuagenarian has organized the various old men and women into a lean, mean, zombie-killing team. He might not need help but he’s more than happy to put a boot up the lads’ asses for botching the hold-up: he has a reputation to uphold, after all!

First of all, let it be said that Cockneys vs Zombies is legitimately, laugh-out-loud funny. Similar to other well-made horror-comedies like the aforementioned Shaun of the Dead and Tucker and Dale vs Evil, C vs Z gets much of its biggest laughs from character development and well-timed extended jokes. While the film has plenty of fun gently ribbing the various clichés of zombie films (one character remarks that he’s surprised the dead don’t move faster, to which another quips, “Well, they’re dead, aren’t they?”; an old man “outruns” a horde of extremely slow zombies while using a walker), it has much more fun blowing holes in the conventions of gangster/Brit-crime films. Alan Ford, in particular, is absolutely magnificent as Ray, the hardest old man in the entire galaxy. Playing a role that’s like an age-advanced version of Brick Top in Snatch, Ford doesn’t chew the scenery: he napalms the landscape and toasts marshmallows in the ruddy glow. Ford is so intense, so spot-on endearing that he’s almost like a black hole: it’s impossible to escape his orbit for any given scene. In fact, the absolutely bananas ending, where Ray yells out “Oi, zombies: get the fook outta me East End” as he machine-guns hordes of the ravenous dead was so epic that I almost restarted the movie from scratch as soon as it ended. There’s a whole lot going for C Vs Z but don’t think for one minute that it would be half the film it is without Ford’s take-no-prisoners performance.

The rest of the cast, while nowhere near as magnetic as Ford, still bring their A-games. Hardiker and Treadaway are completely likable and believable as the slightly dense brothers who really do love their granddad and are always just one bad idea away from success. Ashley Thomas, as Mental Mickey, gets to chew up whatever scenery Ford leaves intact and he’s consistently fun to watch, even if his delivery eventually approaches cartoon levels. Tony Gardner deserves special mention as Clive, one of the hostages and just about the biggest douchebag to grace the screen in some time. Astute viewers might also notice former Bond girl Honor Blackman (Goldfinger) as one of Ray’s fellow rest-home residents. Like similar British crime-comedies, C vs Z is very much an ensemble piece and the whole cast works amazingly well together.

I’ve already said that Cockneys vs Zombies works great as a crime film: how does it fare as a zombie film? To be honest, it does pretty damn well. In some cases, I’d actually rank it above Shaun of the Dead, although Wright’s film is probably more consistent. There are two set-pieces in particular, the aforementioned walker vs shufflers bit and another where the tied-up hostages must navigate around a hungry zombie, that easily stand up to the best in the genre and the rest of the action is pretty solid. The gore, for the most part, is practical and looks pretty good: one of the characters dies in a manner reminiscent of Capt. Rhodes “wishbone” death in Day of the Dead and it’s definitely a little urp-worthy.

Ultimately, Cockneys vs Zombies is an incredibly fun, fast-paced and gleefully vulgar film that still manages to be surprisingly good-natured and vibrant. Whether the film is showcasing a character’s failed attempts at Cockney rhyming slang (culminating in one of the funniest, most fist-raising scenes I’ve seen in some time) or a white-knuckle double-decker bus chase, it never ceases to be endlessly inventive and wildly entertaining. Cockney’s vs Zombies has a genuinely smart script and some really interesting ideas floating around. As usual in these kind of British films, there’s a distinct notion of classism, made plain when Ray states, “We’re on our own: we’re old-age pensioners. We gotta take care of ourselves.” He’s taking about them, specifically, but he may as well be speaking for all of the old, poor and marginalized people who must fend for themselves. It’s a sobering reminder that the haves and the have-nots will experience whatever apocalypse might be coming in very different ways: some will observe from relative comfort while others will be getting dirty in the trenches. Cockneys vs Zombies, however, is a film that knows how possible, if highly difficult, it is for the little guy to make good. In the face of grave odds, the salt of the earth will always prevail. As Terry so eloquently puts it: “The East End has been through far worse. It’ll bounce back: it always has.”

He’s talking about them, specifically, but he could really be talking about any of us.

 

2/4/14: My Mind Remains the Same

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Antone DiLeo, Bub the Zombie, cinema, Dawn of the Dead, Day of the Dead, disappointing films, film reviews, films, G. Howard Klar, George Romero, horror films, Jarlath Conroy, Joe Pilato, Lori Cardille, Michael Gornick, military vs scientists, Movies, Night of the Living Dead, Richard Liberty, sequels, shouting, teaching zombies, Terry Alexander, Tom Savini, underground bunker, Walkman, zombies

It should come as absolutely no surprise to anyone who knows me that I tend to have very firm opinions about almost everything under the sun. This is especially true of films and music: to paraphrase myself, I find nothing idle about idle entertainment. Many of the films (The Godfather, Taxi Driver, The Good, The Bad and the Ugly) and music (Faith No More, punk, thrash) that I grew up on are still vitally important to me as I stare my 40th birthday in the face: my opinion on much of this hasn’t wavered one iota since my youth.

This is not to say, however, that my mind cannot be changed…far from it. In fact, I like to think that I’m able to constantly re-evaluate old favorites and find new, timely reasons for their rankings. Sometimes, my re-evaluations produce a rather interesting effect: rather than continue to love some films, I find myself rather…well, un-fond of them. A classic case in point would be Kevin Smith’s inaugural ode to slackerdom, Clerks. When I was younger, Clerks was just about the freshest, funniest, edgiest film I’d ever seen. I thrilled to the antics of Dante and Randal, ran around quoting the dialogue endlessly and played the soundtrack until I had every chord memorized. Years later, however, I had occasion to revisit Clerks and found something rather interesting: it’s a pretty terrible film. It’s juvenile, vulgar, silly and far less clever than it thinks it is. It also looks like crap, even when compared to other zero-budget indies. In essence, everything I once held dear about the film had become flipped on its head and I realized something very important: Clerks is totally badass when you’re seventeen but decidedly less so when you’re in your thirties.

This re-evaluation, however, can also go the other way. Sometimes, I can re-evaluate something that I formerly disliked (a good example would be John Wayne films) and find a new appreciation and kinship for them. Just as Clerks is a great example of something that’s only applicable to the young, perhaps these other films (less flash, more substance) are only applicable to those who have a bit of experience and life under their belts. In this spirit of rediscovery, I sought to finally answer a question that’s been bugging me for decades: why don’t I like George Romero’s Day of the Dead?

You see, Night of the Living Dead and Dawn of the Dead occupy a pretty high place in my overall pantheon of influential, invincible films. Dawn of the Dead, in particular, has been so fundamentally important to my overall disdain of the world around me that it almost functions as ground zero for both my political AND social viewpoints. Night of the Living Dead is one of the best, scariest horror films ever. I’ve watched both of those films at least 15-20 times since I was young and my opinion on them has never wavered: I may understand them better than I used to but I love them no less. Day of the Dead, however…that’s a whole ‘nother kettle of fish, as it were.

When I was younger, the only thing I ever really loved about Romero’s third zombie film (fourth if you count The Crazies) was the jaw-dropping (or ripping, whichever you prefer) practical effects. Working with effects maestro Tom Savini again, Day of the Dead is a virtual clinic in special effects, featuring more graphic evisceration, disembowelment and gore effects than you can shake a stick at. A few of the set-pieces, such as the shovel to the zombie’s mouth and Rhode’s amazing ripped-in-half bit, still set a benchmark for practical effects in this day and age. While there might not be quite as much sustained zombie mayhem as in Dawn of the Dead, Day has more than its fair share of gut-munching. This, unfortunately, ends up being its only real asset.

The biggest overall problem with Day of the Dead is really quite simple: it’s just not a very good film, especially as a thematic follow-up to the far superior Dawn of the Dead. The acting, in particular, is atrocious, something that the first two films only had to deal with in fits and starts. In this outing, the bad actors have overrun the good in a similar manner to the zombies and we’re left with a bunch of stock character types shouting at each other in a variety of accents for the better part of 90 minutes. The worst offenders, in a pretty crowded field, would have to be the utterly ridiculous and laughable Antone DiLeo, as Miguel; Joe Pilato as Capt. Rhodes and G. Howard Klar as Steel. DiLeo plays Miguel like some kind of pewling man-baby, right down to the strange, disaffected way that he delivers his lines: he constantly seems in danger of throwing a hissy fit and he usually does. Pilato’s Rhodes is a thoroughly ludicrous military caricature, a creature that spends so much time screaming, howling and gobbling scenery that I’m not entirely convinced he  wasn’t some sort of bio-engineered answer to the zombie threat. Klar just spends the entire film cackling and swearing, sometimes at the same time, sometimes separately (for variety). He’s a worthless character, even when measured against the admittedly low bar set for horror movie villains.

When the acting isn’t terrible, it rises to the level of merely serviceable, at least in the case of the film’s three leads: Lori Cardille as Sarah, Terry Alexander as John and Jarlath Conroy as McDermott. Even though Alexander and Conroy hurl their lines in thick Jamaican and Irish accents, respectively, they’re at least offering some modulation in their emotions: unlike everyone else, they don’t seem constantly pissed off. Cardille’s Sarah is an incredibly bland heroine but she’s not an over-sexualized one, which is at least a change of pace. Similar to the other two, Cardille still spends most of the film shouting…but not all of it, which marks a distinct break from the sustained cheese-fest provided by Pilato, DiLeo and Klar. Of particular note is Richard Liberty as Dr. Logan (“Frankenstein”), the insane doctor who tries to teach Bub to use a Walkman. He’s the only actor who actually seems to nail the appropriate tone for his character, playing Logan as the kind of absent-minded, kindly nutjob who probably would get a huge kick out of seeing a zombie try to shave.

And then, of course, there’s that whole thing about Bub trying to shave. And use a Walkmen. And shoot a gun at the bad guys. And, you know, have feelings. You see, Day of the Dead is really where Romero jumped whole-hog into the idea that the zombies where capable not only of learning but, in a way, evolving. While there may have been hints of this in the previous film (who could ever forget that terrifying Hare Krishna zombie?), Day of the Dead makes this a primary focus. Perhaps Romero meant some sort of understated grandeur or sly social commentary in the scene where Bub dons headphones and displays childlike wonder at the music he hears. If this was his intent, however, it seems a little belied by the ridiculous shouted dialogue that precedes and follows it.

For my money, turning the zombies in Day of the Dead into sympathetic figures robs the film of most of its horrific elements. In its place, we’re left with, essentially, the story of a bunch of loudmouthed, crude soldiers who are stuck in a small, confined, underground space with a bunch of loudmouthed, crazy scientists. Since so much of the film is given over to these unpleasant characters shouting at each other (sometimes literally shouting, as in red-in-the-face, short of breath, need-to-take-five kind of shouting) and so little is given to any kind of world-building, it definitely seems as if the dialogue, risible as it is, is the main focus.

This makes sense when one realizes that Romero’s budget was slashed in half from its original figure, leading to some creative scrambling to make ends meet. As mentioned above, some of the effects work is absolutely astounding, the complete apex of what was possible in 1985. Some of the zombie makeup, however, is pretty awful and slap-dash, especially from up close. The abandoned city scene is nicely established but the rest of the film takes place in the nondescript underground bunker. Frequent Romero cinematographer Michael Gornick (the man behind the camera for Dawn of the Dead, Martin and Creepshow) shoots the film but it still manages to look ugly and drab. Even the score seems decidedly lackluster and generic, a huge step down from Goblin’s distinctive electronic score for Dawn of the Dead.

More than anything, Day of the Dead just seems like a tired, unnecessary film. While there is some social commentary going on, it seems to have devolved from the sharp satire on consumerism of the previous film into a dull treatise that boils down to “Why can’t we all just play nice?” It’s a nice sentiment, to be sure, but it makes for a severely by-the-book kind of film. Even if Romero’s eventual followup, Land of the Dead, was nowhere near a masterpiece, it still managed to have more invention and energy than Day did.

At the end of the day, I’m always going to have a lot of love for George Romero. Even if one were to discount his zombie films (insane but possible, I suppose), you’d still be left with a pretty impressive horror filmography: Martin, Creepshow, The Dark Half and Monkey Shines are all very solid and, in the case of Martin, pretty great films. By all accounts, Romero seems like a great guy, the kind of down-to-earth, blue-collar dude that you can’t easily imagine kickstarting an entire subgenre of film all on his lonesome. And then, of course, there’s Dawn of the Dead.

With that being said, however, my opinion on Day of the Dead has, sadly, remained pretty consistent: I may love most of Romero’s work but I just don’t care for Day of the Dead. I’ve tried to really examine the film, poke around in all of the nooks and crannies to see if I’m missing anything but I keep coming up empty.

By now, I really have to accept one thing and just move on: It’s not me, Day of the Dead…it’s you.