Not be confused with the previously-reviewed short DEAD MEAT (which also hails from Ireland, and was made in 2004), this feature-length zombie film of the same name comes to us from writer/director Conor McMahon. And though it isn't exactly groundbreaking, DEAD MEAT should prove a rancid treat to zombie fanatics.
The film is a series of escalating events happening to a young woman named Helena (Marian Araujo, an admirably understated heroine) as a zombie outbreak--the result of a mutated strain of Mad Cow Disease--strikes the Irish countryside. While it isn't really a horror-comedy, McMahon injects a healthy dose of black humor into the proceedings as the story slowly unfolds (my favorite bit was an unexpected vacuum-to-the-eyeball as Helena fends off her freshly-zombified boyfriend). What really stands out is the foreboding sense of doom that lingers over each scene, aided immeasurably by the stark exterior setting (the movie takes place almost entirely outdoors, an atmospheric touch that had to've been difficult, given the production's obvious limited resources) and its use of such structures as the crumbling ruins of an abbey or an ancient castle as sets. The film's digital video photography is also exceptional, fluid yet not shaky, bearing an influence of early Peter Jackson without slavishly copying his style.
Very little happens in DEAD MEAT that you haven't seen before (it takes the checklist of Things That Need to Happen in a Zombie Film and hits just about all of them), yet unlike most instances where this bleeds the life from the story, the feeling of familiarity actually heightens the fun. Some of McMahon's details are a little far-fetched, especially in the fight scenes (shovels are used as spears, Helena dispatches zombies with the heel of her shoe, throwing it with amazing accuracy), and the story does start to run out of steam as it nears the end, slowing down to the point that its rustic NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD-inspired finale loses some of its impact, but by then I was to enamored with the film to really mind. I would, though, have liked to see more done with the downbeat ending, which raised more questions than it answered.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
DAY 127--PET SEMATARY TWO
When Mary Lambert's adaptation of PET SEMATARY became a box-office hit, grossing more than any previous King-inspired film, it was no surprise that Paramount ordered a follow-up. Lambert returned, along with a script by Richard Ouelette, in this addle-brained 1992 sequel.
Aside from a few fleeting references to Louis Creed and his family, PET SEMATARY TWO bears little relation to its predecessor. This time around it's Edward Furlong (high on the success of TERMINATOR 2) and his veterinarian dad Anthony Edwards (a couple of years before ER saved him from the possibility of future sequels) taking up shop in Ludlow after the death of Furlong's mother. From its prologue establishing Furlong's backstory, it becomes abundantly clear that TWO's disinterested in being anything but a dumb horror flick, albeit with a shiny Hollywood veneer (courtesy of cinematographer Russell Carpenter, who'd go on to be James Cameron's DP of choice, and whose gorgeous autumn photography provides the movie with its sole asset).
And as boneheaded sequels often do, PET SEMATARY TWO completely misses the point. The Micmac burial ground was a vital part of the original story, a place of dark, unfathomable power; here, it's a means to an end, a plot device to fulfill the vaguely-defined motivations of its characters. (That it also glosses over the original moral about tampering with the unknown should be a given.) Even without trying to cram a new story and a different set of characters into the first film's mythos, little about PET SEMATARY TWO makes any sense. Nobody has a clear reason for doing anything, such as when Clancy Brown (in a villainous turn with an in-and-out New England accent) dies, why does stepson Drew (Jason Maguire) and Furlong bury him, knowing he'll return? You'd think with an asshole like him out of the way, they'd keep it that way. Much is also made about "burying your own," yet how is Brown able to resurrect Furlong's mother and bully Jared Rushton? (I'll tell you how, so Furlong and Edwards can face off with a couple of boogeymen at the end.)
PET SEMATARY TWO has all the earmarks of a bad movie: plodding dream sequences with no purpose, cheap jolts, even a mysterious old coot who knows all the town secrets, yet doesn't tell us anything we don't already know. The performances here are actually pretty decent--a nice perk of having major studio backing--with Edwards and Maguire being standouts. Furlong makes for a poor protagonist, with his faux-tough posturing and selfish whining, though when he makes a sudden shift into a smug jerk at the climax, you really wish Brown and company would get ahold of him.
PET SEMATARY TWO is horror at its most cynical, a specially-designed "product" determined by committee to deliver the prerequisite tropes Hollywood believes we want. That there's no PET SEMATARY THREE tells me the fan weren't going to stand for it (I can't really complain, since I saw this one in the theater), though the myriad CHILDREN OF THE CORN sequels continues to perplex me.
Aside from a few fleeting references to Louis Creed and his family, PET SEMATARY TWO bears little relation to its predecessor. This time around it's Edward Furlong (high on the success of TERMINATOR 2) and his veterinarian dad Anthony Edwards (a couple of years before ER saved him from the possibility of future sequels) taking up shop in Ludlow after the death of Furlong's mother. From its prologue establishing Furlong's backstory, it becomes abundantly clear that TWO's disinterested in being anything but a dumb horror flick, albeit with a shiny Hollywood veneer (courtesy of cinematographer Russell Carpenter, who'd go on to be James Cameron's DP of choice, and whose gorgeous autumn photography provides the movie with its sole asset).
And as boneheaded sequels often do, PET SEMATARY TWO completely misses the point. The Micmac burial ground was a vital part of the original story, a place of dark, unfathomable power; here, it's a means to an end, a plot device to fulfill the vaguely-defined motivations of its characters. (That it also glosses over the original moral about tampering with the unknown should be a given.) Even without trying to cram a new story and a different set of characters into the first film's mythos, little about PET SEMATARY TWO makes any sense. Nobody has a clear reason for doing anything, such as when Clancy Brown (in a villainous turn with an in-and-out New England accent) dies, why does stepson Drew (Jason Maguire) and Furlong bury him, knowing he'll return? You'd think with an asshole like him out of the way, they'd keep it that way. Much is also made about "burying your own," yet how is Brown able to resurrect Furlong's mother and bully Jared Rushton? (I'll tell you how, so Furlong and Edwards can face off with a couple of boogeymen at the end.)
PET SEMATARY TWO has all the earmarks of a bad movie: plodding dream sequences with no purpose, cheap jolts, even a mysterious old coot who knows all the town secrets, yet doesn't tell us anything we don't already know. The performances here are actually pretty decent--a nice perk of having major studio backing--with Edwards and Maguire being standouts. Furlong makes for a poor protagonist, with his faux-tough posturing and selfish whining, though when he makes a sudden shift into a smug jerk at the climax, you really wish Brown and company would get ahold of him.
PET SEMATARY TWO is horror at its most cynical, a specially-designed "product" determined by committee to deliver the prerequisite tropes Hollywood believes we want. That there's no PET SEMATARY THREE tells me the fan weren't going to stand for it (I can't really complain, since I saw this one in the theater), though the myriad CHILDREN OF THE CORN sequels continues to perplex me.
DAY 126--ZOMBIES GONE WILD
The title of this microbudgeted 2007 release offered a prurient but raucous promise; the GIRLS GONE WILD juggernaut--um, if that's a pun, it's not intended--is ripe for parody, and throwing zombies into the mix makes sense, mirroring the dead, voyeuristic tone of the videos. However, this presentation by the Cohen Brothers (who apparently add the "h" to their non-Oscar winning projects) is so utterly and thoroughly awful, that calling it awful simply isn't enough. ZOMBIE CAMPOUT was awful. NIGHT OF THE BUMS was awful. RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD PART II was, too (my apologies to Ken Widerhorn for my harsh review a few days back; after watching the wretched cinematic secretion that is ZOMBIES GONE WILD, his film is a breathtakingly inventive spin on the zombie comedy, as hilarious an outing ever put on celluloid.) Yeah, this movie is that fucking terrible.
I knew I was in trouble when the writer/director is credited to "G.R." (I understand completely; if I'd made this piece of shit, I'd've been doubly careful and shot each of my crew members in the hindbrain, lest any of them reveal my identity). Opening with a "disclaimer," warning the viewer that the following movie is really, really, offensive and if you're, y'know, a pussy, that you shouldn't watch. Well, I was offended, but only because I'm not a knuckle-dragging Neanderthal obsessed with the act of egestion (that means pooping, if G.R.'s reading this). Actually, I shouldn't be so mean toward knuckle-dragging Neanderthals, since most of them will have the good sense to avoid this rotgut. Tedium clocks in around the eight-minute mark in this alleged comedy as three nimrods embark on a road trip to indulge in all the delights appreciated by college men, mostly of the vaginal variety.
Now, I want to impress upon you just how putrid ZOMBIES GONE WILD is, yet I refuse to discuss it in detail (it's not that I don't want to, but I tend to curl into the fetal position and twitch whenever I try to think about it). I will say that for its aggressively moronic first hour, the movie is nothing but a series of abominably unfunny "skits" as these three assholes engage in all sorts of shenanigans, most of which involve farting, shitting, or a combination of both (in "edgy" fare like this it's inevitable that certain bodily functions are invoked, but G.R. centers so many "laughs" around human excrement that I began to wonder if the old boy was trying to work out some personal demons). I've literally been to funerals that were funnier than this.
It behooves me to mention that I don't have a problem with material that seeks to shock and offend; in fact, I tend to favor it. But what G.R. doesn't seem to understand is that it takes more than showering your cast in fake vomit or throwing a black guy in a Klansman's hood to be "shocking."
ZOMBIES gets around to "exploring" its premise in the last twenty-five minutes, though the handful of bikini-clad girls included are more braindead than wild, and the undead shows up briefly to munch on some meager gore. (For a GGW parody that strives to be offensive, there's absolutely nothing in the T&A department; I say that not as someone who needs bare breasts to be entertained, but the film seems to miss the entire point about its raison d'etre).
I'm sure the morbidly curious will want to watch this just to see how bad it is, but I implore you: DO NOT. I'd rather mud wrestle with Ann Coulter and Nancy Grace before subjecting myself to this again. Tell you what, instead of watching ZOMBIES GONE WILD, I'll gorge myself on a shitload of White Castle burgers and a gallon of black coffee; when I can't hold it any longer I'll videotape the resulting explusion and sent it to you. Not only will your time be better spent, but I'll probably get a five-picture deal from the Cohens as well.
(Notice that the trailer not only avoid any sound or dialogue, but lasts a whopping thirty seconds.)
I knew I was in trouble when the writer/director is credited to "G.R." (I understand completely; if I'd made this piece of shit, I'd've been doubly careful and shot each of my crew members in the hindbrain, lest any of them reveal my identity). Opening with a "disclaimer," warning the viewer that the following movie is really, really, offensive and if you're, y'know, a pussy, that you shouldn't watch. Well, I was offended, but only because I'm not a knuckle-dragging Neanderthal obsessed with the act of egestion (that means pooping, if G.R.'s reading this). Actually, I shouldn't be so mean toward knuckle-dragging Neanderthals, since most of them will have the good sense to avoid this rotgut. Tedium clocks in around the eight-minute mark in this alleged comedy as three nimrods embark on a road trip to indulge in all the delights appreciated by college men, mostly of the vaginal variety.
Now, I want to impress upon you just how putrid ZOMBIES GONE WILD is, yet I refuse to discuss it in detail (it's not that I don't want to, but I tend to curl into the fetal position and twitch whenever I try to think about it). I will say that for its aggressively moronic first hour, the movie is nothing but a series of abominably unfunny "skits" as these three assholes engage in all sorts of shenanigans, most of which involve farting, shitting, or a combination of both (in "edgy" fare like this it's inevitable that certain bodily functions are invoked, but G.R. centers so many "laughs" around human excrement that I began to wonder if the old boy was trying to work out some personal demons). I've literally been to funerals that were funnier than this.
It behooves me to mention that I don't have a problem with material that seeks to shock and offend; in fact, I tend to favor it. But what G.R. doesn't seem to understand is that it takes more than showering your cast in fake vomit or throwing a black guy in a Klansman's hood to be "shocking."
ZOMBIES gets around to "exploring" its premise in the last twenty-five minutes, though the handful of bikini-clad girls included are more braindead than wild, and the undead shows up briefly to munch on some meager gore. (For a GGW parody that strives to be offensive, there's absolutely nothing in the T&A department; I say that not as someone who needs bare breasts to be entertained, but the film seems to miss the entire point about its raison d'etre).
I'm sure the morbidly curious will want to watch this just to see how bad it is, but I implore you: DO NOT. I'd rather mud wrestle with Ann Coulter and Nancy Grace before subjecting myself to this again. Tell you what, instead of watching ZOMBIES GONE WILD, I'll gorge myself on a shitload of White Castle burgers and a gallon of black coffee; when I can't hold it any longer I'll videotape the resulting explusion and sent it to you. Not only will your time be better spent, but I'll probably get a five-picture deal from the Cohens as well.
(Notice that the trailer not only avoid any sound or dialogue, but lasts a whopping thirty seconds.)
Monday, March 3, 2008
DAY 125--THE DEAD EFFECT
I'm getting sick of these myself, so this should be the last short for a while, though THE DEAD EFFECT isn't a horrible note to break on. Written and directed by Chris Schwartz, it deals (briefly) with a female scientist's attempt to find a cure for the zombie epidemic. The heavy metal score meshed with the tone of the short, a rare occurence, and I liked the blood-spattered zombie POV. I just wish Schwartz hadn't saddled his film with a tired ending; and where the hell did that baby-faced soldier come from?
Tomorrow, I swear, feature length movies!
THE DEAD EFFECT
Tomorrow, I swear, feature length movies!
THE DEAD EFFECT
DAY 124--SEVER
Okay, I promise, just two more contest entries, okay?
SEVER, from writer/director Kurtis M. Spieler, showed some promise, and it's not a badly-made film, at least from a technical standpoint. Acting could've been better, but I'm starting to get used to these amateur-hour performances. For a minute there I thought we were going to get an honest-to-God story, but I was mistaken. Cool zombie makeup, though.
SEVER
SEVER, from writer/director Kurtis M. Spieler, showed some promise, and it's not a badly-made film, at least from a technical standpoint. Acting could've been better, but I'm starting to get used to these amateur-hour performances. For a minute there I thought we were going to get an honest-to-God story, but I was mistaken. Cool zombie makeup, though.
SEVER
DAY 123--RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD PART III
(Before I begin, special thanks are due to Donna Williams for her invaluable assistance with this blog. She's contributed many copies of films for me, and in my haste I've shortsightedly left her name out of prior entries where she's helped me. So here you go, Donna, go to the head of the class.)
Brian Yuzna--the genre-favorite who produced such jewels as RE-ANIMATOR, FROM BEYOND, and hell, even SOCIETY, then went to Spain and set up a crap-film factory--took over the reins of the RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD series with part three in 1993. While no masterpiece by any means, even a mediocre affair such as this is a breath of fetid air compared to Ken Wiederhorn's previous bowel movement.
Completely ignoring the previous installments, PART III's sole connection to the earlier films is the use of Trioxin. This time around it's being used in military experiments to develop the ultimate, unstoppable soldier. (Y'know, there's been a dozen or so zombie flicks with this same premise, but have any of them actually showed undead soldiers in combat? I'm trying to recall, but all I can think of is a brief moment in REVOLT OF THE ZOMBIES.) Heading up the project are Sarah Douglas--a long ways away from working with Richard Donner on SUPERMAN--and Kent McCord, who accidentally kill WAXWORK director Anthony Hickox during a botched experiment.
But the secret military stuff is window dressing for the real story, the reckless teenage love affair between McCord's son Curt (J. Trevor Edmond) and his girlfriend Julie (the stunning Mindy Clarke). Theirs is a typical teen romance--i.e. completely boring save for a brief lovemaking scene with a topless Clarke--until McCord is transferred from the project, meaning the two lovebirds will be separated (possibly forever!). Curt and Julie decide to run away together, but when Julie's killed in a subsequent motorcycle accident, a heartsick Curt takes her to Daddy's lab to bring his girlfriend back.
There've been plenty of doomed romances involving the living dead (my all-time favorite being Naoyuki Tomomatsu's STACY), but PART III ignores any potential for true tragedy within the material, instead saddling its leads with chuckleheaded villains (a gang of half-assed Latino hoods they meet during a convenience store hold-up) and an assortment of prosthetic monsters; Yuzna's version of the Tar Man looks particularly rubbery, and is good for a derisive laugh or two before hitting the fast-forward button. Too much time is devoted to the strained father-son relationship, which wouldn't have been so aggravating if either the father or son possessed any charisma, and the plot's decision to abandon its love story angle in favor of slugging it out with dumb-looking monsters is quite a let-down.
Then there's its leads. Edmond is such a bland, whiny wannabe that almost everything he does feels out of character. I never bought his defiance of his father's wishes, nor did I buy his burning love for Julie (or how he'd a girl like her in the first place); in reality, after Julie bit the dust he'd be sitting alone in his room, writing wretched poetry to her in between My Chemical Romance songs. (Yeah, I realize my musical references are off--it's the wussiest band I could think of.) Clarke herself is a competent actress, but all she's required to do is look hot as a self-mutilated zombie in ragged fishnets, a task she fulfills quite nicely. The montage as Clarke undergoes her metal-and-glass-studded transformation suggests an eroticism Yuzna should've explored, though with all the problems he had with the MPAA he probably couldn't. Either way, I'm sure a lot of young boys had confusing emotions watching this flick.
RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD PART III is a decent popcorn movie. If you're looking for an excellent horror-comedy, get the original, but if you're seeking the ultimate body-mod girl, this one bits the bill.
(Sorry, I couldn't resist. I doubt anyone will mind.)
Brian Yuzna--the genre-favorite who produced such jewels as RE-ANIMATOR, FROM BEYOND, and hell, even SOCIETY, then went to Spain and set up a crap-film factory--took over the reins of the RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD series with part three in 1993. While no masterpiece by any means, even a mediocre affair such as this is a breath of fetid air compared to Ken Wiederhorn's previous bowel movement.
Completely ignoring the previous installments, PART III's sole connection to the earlier films is the use of Trioxin. This time around it's being used in military experiments to develop the ultimate, unstoppable soldier. (Y'know, there's been a dozen or so zombie flicks with this same premise, but have any of them actually showed undead soldiers in combat? I'm trying to recall, but all I can think of is a brief moment in REVOLT OF THE ZOMBIES.) Heading up the project are Sarah Douglas--a long ways away from working with Richard Donner on SUPERMAN--and Kent McCord, who accidentally kill WAXWORK director Anthony Hickox during a botched experiment.
But the secret military stuff is window dressing for the real story, the reckless teenage love affair between McCord's son Curt (J. Trevor Edmond) and his girlfriend Julie (the stunning Mindy Clarke). Theirs is a typical teen romance--i.e. completely boring save for a brief lovemaking scene with a topless Clarke--until McCord is transferred from the project, meaning the two lovebirds will be separated (possibly forever!). Curt and Julie decide to run away together, but when Julie's killed in a subsequent motorcycle accident, a heartsick Curt takes her to Daddy's lab to bring his girlfriend back.
There've been plenty of doomed romances involving the living dead (my all-time favorite being Naoyuki Tomomatsu's STACY), but PART III ignores any potential for true tragedy within the material, instead saddling its leads with chuckleheaded villains (a gang of half-assed Latino hoods they meet during a convenience store hold-up) and an assortment of prosthetic monsters; Yuzna's version of the Tar Man looks particularly rubbery, and is good for a derisive laugh or two before hitting the fast-forward button. Too much time is devoted to the strained father-son relationship, which wouldn't have been so aggravating if either the father or son possessed any charisma, and the plot's decision to abandon its love story angle in favor of slugging it out with dumb-looking monsters is quite a let-down.
Then there's its leads. Edmond is such a bland, whiny wannabe that almost everything he does feels out of character. I never bought his defiance of his father's wishes, nor did I buy his burning love for Julie (or how he'd a girl like her in the first place); in reality, after Julie bit the dust he'd be sitting alone in his room, writing wretched poetry to her in between My Chemical Romance songs. (Yeah, I realize my musical references are off--it's the wussiest band I could think of.) Clarke herself is a competent actress, but all she's required to do is look hot as a self-mutilated zombie in ragged fishnets, a task she fulfills quite nicely. The montage as Clarke undergoes her metal-and-glass-studded transformation suggests an eroticism Yuzna should've explored, though with all the problems he had with the MPAA he probably couldn't. Either way, I'm sure a lot of young boys had confusing emotions watching this flick.
RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD PART III is a decent popcorn movie. If you're looking for an excellent horror-comedy, get the original, but if you're seeking the ultimate body-mod girl, this one bits the bill.
(Sorry, I couldn't resist. I doubt anyone will mind.)
DAY 122--DEADER LIVING THROUGH CHEMISTRY
Kern Saxton demonstrates DEADER LIVING THROUGH CHEMISTRY in his entry in the DIARY OF THE DEAD contest, one of the more skillful clips I've seen so far. There isn't much of a story here--four drug addicts argue over how to proceed when one of their friends is turning into a zombie--which is rather irritating; we get a lot of "debating" as the characters hurl the word "fuck" back and forth (Saxton doesn't seem to know the difference between David Mamet "fucks" and BLAIR WITCH PROJECT "fucks"); even in the limited time alloted, there was potential for conflict and tension that goes untapped. At least Saxton got an adequate job out of his actors.
CHEMISTRY also benefits from a little production value, with an effective score by Friedrich Myers and stylistic editing and camerawork. The closing scenes are admirably done, leading one to believe we'll be seeing more from Saxton in the future.
DEADER LIVING THROUGH CHEMISTRY
CHEMISTRY also benefits from a little production value, with an effective score by Friedrich Myers and stylistic editing and camerawork. The closing scenes are admirably done, leading one to believe we'll be seeing more from Saxton in the future.
DEADER LIVING THROUGH CHEMISTRY
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