6/27/15 (Part Two): Two is the Loneliest Number

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Adam Cronheim, Alana O'Brien, baseball players, buddy films, Christian Stella, cinema, directorial debut, dramas, end of the world, film reviews, films, friendship, horror films, independent films, Jamie Pantanella, Jeremy Gardner, Larry Fessenden, low-budget films, low-key, Movies, Niels Bolle, post-Apocalyptic, road movie, Ryan Winford, slow-moving films, stranded, The Battery, undead, Walkman, writer-director-producer-actor, zombie apocalypse, zombie movies, zombies

How rad would it be to run wild in a post-apocalyptic world with your best friend? Hunting, fishing, killing zombies, taking whatever you need, never answering to “The Man,” never working another day in your life, just kicking back and taking it all in…if you squint just right, it looks like a damn good life, doesn’t it? Now…imagine the exact same scenario but substitute “a co-worker you don’t know very well” for “your best friend” in the above equation. Not quite as fun, eh?

First-time director Jeremy Gardner (working from his own script) takes a close look at the second scenario, the one that sees you getting stuck with a relative stranger during the fallout from an unnamed zombie epidemic, in the low-key, immensely effective horror-drama The Battery (2012). Utilizing a slow, measured pace and a startling degree of real-world verisimilitude, Gardner has created the equivalent of a mumblecore zombie film, a movie not so much about the ravenous hordes of undead that stagger and groan across empty swatches of abandoned humanity but about the few remaining humans who’ve been left holding the bag. When the end-times come, Gardner seems to say, we’ll all find ourselves doing the exact same things we did during “better times”: arguing, swearing, fighting, listening to music on our headphones, masturbating, hoping, goofing around, wondering and wishing for a better tomorrow.

In as economical a way as possible, we meet our two leads and get the lay of the land right off the bat: Ben (writer-director Gardner) and Mickey (Adam Cronheim) are a couple of baseball players who find their lot tied together once the U.S. (and, presumably, the rest of the world) becomes overrun by zombies. We don’t get big explanations, no sense of a larger scheme at play here, just the facts, ma’am. Although the two were never great friends when things were “normal,” they now find themselves needing to rely on each other for their very survival: you might think that making a new friend is difficult…try doing it when mobs of zombies are trying to eat your face!

Personality-wise, the two former teammates couldn’t be more different. Ben is the brash, act-first member of the team, a guy who sees killing zombies as his duty and relishes the opportunity to live “off the grid” and make his own way through life. Mickey, on the other hand, is much more reserved, quiet and withdrawn. With his ever-present headphones and lingering memories of his lost life with his pre-apocalypse girlfriend, Mickey is like an open, throbbing wound, slinking from one place to the next without ever really living. Hell, he even resists Ben’s constant attempts to teach him how to fish: he’s got plenty of canned goods, after all, so why bother with the “real stuff” until he has to? Grizzly Adams, he ain’t.

Change comes to the guys’ daily fight for survival when they happen to pick up a mundane conversation on their walkie talkies. The discussion might not be earth-shattering (picking out the movie choice for that night) but Ben and Mickey are rocked to their very cores: here, at long last, is proof that they’re not alone. For Ben, it means more potential problems but for Mickey, the existence of others allows him the faintest glimmer of hope: for the first time, he can begin to see the path that leads out of their personal wilderness and back into regimented society.

The problem, of course, is that folks in post-apocalyptic societies don’t tend to be the friendliest, most trusting, sorts. One of the voices, Frank (Larry Fessenden), pointedly tells our heroes that there’s no more room at this particular inn, while the other voice, Annie (Alana O’Brien) does much the same thing, albeit in a nicer way. Too late, however: poor Mickey has already locked on to the newly discovered survivors as his own source of salvation and he won’t take no for an answer. Despite Ben’s constant protests, Mickey wants to track down Frank, Annie and the others at all costs: not only does he get a whiff of the civilization he so desperately misses but, with Annie, he gets a hint of that other thing he desperately misses…female contact.

As Ben and Mickey continue to move through the destroyed landscape of what used to be a familiar country, constantly on the watch for ambushing zombies, they find their own burgeoning friendship tested and strained at every twist and turn in the path. Will the two ever be able to set aside their differences and become united in their goals? Will Mickey be able to rejoin the civilized society that he always carries so close to his heart, via his ever-present Discman, or will he spend the rest of his days in the wild, gradually giving his own humanity over to survival instincts? And what, exactly, are Frank and Annie trying to hide from them? What is the truth behind “The Orchard” and will it spell salvation or doom for our hardy protagonists?

Low-key, understated and pitched at a glacial pace, Gardner’s film isn’t what one might call a “thrill-a-minute” ride. What it lacks in visceral action, however, it more than makes up for with intelligent, character-driven drama. The focus here is squarely on the humans, not the monsters: for almost the entirety of the film, give or take a few choice setpieces, the zombies remain in the background of the action, serving as omnipresent threat but allowing Ben and Mickey to take the reins. In some ways, it’s a similar tactic to Gareth Edwards’ Monsters (2010), in which the massive beasts became secondary to the human drama at the film’s core. The Battery is, first and foremost, about the ways in which Ben and Mickey navigate around their world. which is an important distinction from most low-budget zombie films.

Despite this focus on the dramatic aspect, however, Gardner and crew don’t shortchange the horrific aspect. The zombies are all well-realized, with effective makeup, and the violence, although infrequent, is always gritty and physical. When the film wants to pull out the stops, it has no problem doing so: the setpiece involving Ben and Mickey trapped in a car by a veritable army of the undead is as tense as they come, culminating in a truly brave six-minute shot that handily recalls the tent scene in Bobcat Goldtwait’s recent Willow Creek (2013). By not making the zombie action the center of the film’s universe, it makes the scattered horror moments that much more effective: I can’t stress enough how radically different this is from most low-budget zombie fare.

In many ways, The Battery is a two-man show: although we meet a couple other characters, including the aforementioned Annie and a carjacker (played by Niels Bolle), the vast majority of our screentime is devoted to either Ben or Mickey. As with many low-budget films (particularly horror films), this could have been the kiss of death: as a lifelong horror fan, “outstanding acting” isn’t usually something I usually associate with these types of movies, at least not at this level.

Rather than being a deficit, however, the performances in The Battery end up being one of the film’s greatest benefits. Quite simply, Gardner and Cronheim have fantastic chemistry: not only do we buy these guys as real people but we also buy into their developing friendship, warts and all. There are certain moments, such as the minutes-long scene consisting of nothing more than Ben and Mickey brushing their teeth, that feel like nothing less than getting a front-row seat to real-life, albeit one where the occasional zombie pops into view. Both actors give unique life and characterization to their respective roles (Ben is the “asshole,” Mickey is the “nice guy”) that extends beyond easy stereotyping and feels a whole lot more like real acting. In this aspect, The Battery reminded me of another exemplary indie horror film about a friendship, Justin Benson and Aaron Moorhead’s extraordinary Resolution (2012). Like Resolution, the characters in The Battery feel 100% authentic, which works wonders on selling the inherent “unreality” of the zombie apocalypse.

While the cinematography in the film is never much more than decent (aside from a few scattered standouts), the sound design is actually pretty brilliant and flawlessly integrated into the fabric of the film. The big conceit here, that Mickey’s Discman provides the score in “real-time,” is pretty damn awesome: that the musical selections are so varied and exceptional (incorporating everything from traditional blues to Neutral Milk Hotel-ish sonic collages) really kicks the whole film up a notch, resulting in scenes and moments that could best be described as “thoroughly kickass.” The montage of Ben and Mickey bumming around the countryside, set to an old blues stomper, is beautifully evocative, as is the wild, chaotic abandon that fuels the scene where Ben gets wasted and dances in front of a mural. Gardner and crew understand that sound design is as integral a part of a film as the visuals and The Battery provides a great crash course in just how to accomplish that.

All in all, I was massively impressed by The Battery: for a low-budget, independent zombie flick, this is just about as artistic and exceptional as it gets. While the film doesn’t always break new ground (Mickey’s obsession with Annie is particularly tiresome and “old hat”), it strikes out on its own path often enough to prove how much Gardner has to say. For some viewers, the slow pace and relative lack of action might be slightly off-putting but more patient audiences will realize one important fact: you have to learn to crawl before you walk. By taking its time and easing into the horror, Gardner’s film demonstrates that it has the stamina to go the distance. Here’s to hoping that Jeremy Gardner and his team continue to pump out effective, well-made little films like this: for a genre that can often be more smoke than fire, there will always be a need for movies that are actually about something.

The Battery may a road movie set during a zombie plague but, in the bigger scheme of things, it’s really about human interaction and the ways in which we’re all intertwined, whether we like it or not. I’ll take that over another bloody disembowelment any ol’ day of the week.

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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.