Derivative, atrociously dubbed and badly
written, but cleverly photographed, with superb makeup and breathtaking
location shooting to boot, Zombie is the epitome
of Italian exploitation from the late 1970s/early 1980s. It is also one of Lucio
Fulci’s most fulfilling, accomplished films. As such, it is greatly deserving
of its cult status, which also derives from the presence of two world-famous
scenes featuring the full proficiency of both the photography and makeup
departments. Of course, the actors are all ineffectual and the cultural lore is
quite perplexing, but the terror is undeniably real. And so is the sheer fun
that the spectator experiences while sitting through this zany zombie romp, one
of the best to ever come out of Europe.
As the film
begins, a derelict sailboat is spotted in the New York harbor. This warrants a
whole portfolio of shots featuring the boat against some famous backdrops such
as the Brooklyn Bridge or the Statue of Liberty. Two coast guards are then
commissioned to board the empty vessel and look for survivors. But as they roam
its apparently empty bowels, one of them is attacked and bit by an overweight
zombie, who takes out a typically large portion of his neck in the process.
After shooting down the beast, the remaining officer hauls both the corpse of
his colleague and the boat itself back to the mainland for further study.
Baffling the police, this mysterious affair soon draws the attention of two
particularly adventurous archetypes, a British reporter working in NY and the
inquisitive daughter of the boat’s missing proprietor, both of whom quickly
decide to team up in order to investigate the old man’s disappearance. This
will lead them all the way to a remote Caribbean island where a strange curse
plagues the islanders, turning the dead into walking carnivorous abominations.
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| Fearless extras in full ghoulish makeup an example of dedication to one's craft. |
Released a scant year after Dawn of the
Dead (known in Italy as Zombi), this film is an avowed cash-in of Romero’s seminal masterpiece. And while it
pales in comparison, Zombie (originally known as Zombi 2) remains a valiant
and earnest effort by veteran Fulci. Its premise is actually quite endearing,
as we are anxious to know exactly what happened to the crew of the derelict
boat and eager to travel the world in search of answers. Of course, it’s quite
disappointing to discover that the film eschews any definitive explanation for
the outbreak, but the trip itself is well worth the admission price, especially since it also works as an exciting travelogue. Being
momentarily shipped to the Caribbean, most of the film's runtime is dedicated to the spectacle of wondrous exotic sights, not the least of which is the nearly nude body of
Italian starlet Auretta Gay.
After being offered a ride to the island of
Matool by a friendly American couple, protagonists Peter and Anne are
subsequently seen cruising in the couple's boat through the clear blue sea, trying to
pinpoint the localization of the elusive land mass. That’s where Auretta suddenly
decides to indulge in an underwater photo session, removing all her clothes
save for a tiny white thong, and donning some light diving equipment. That’s also
where the film hits a historical high point thanks to a world-renowned
underwater scene, one which gorehounds frequently discuss with reverent awe in
their voice. Seamlessly framing the young woman as she probes the ocean floor,
navigating through rows of sparkling fish and bright corral reefs, her lovely
breasts exposed to the currents, the film goes on to include a unique encounter
between a water-bound zombie and a roaming shark, both of which are initially
after a bite of Auretta. The interaction between the two predators is not
entirely realistic, with the undead creature clumsily groping the shark and
spreading red paint over its body, but the underwater photography is
breathtaking, with every detail crisper than anything filmed aboveground. The result immediately reminded me of Piranha's wonderful underwater ballet, but with a distinct flavor of Italian self-indulgence, as Eros and
Thanatos are excitingly entwined to create an
immediate sense of dread from what was initially a scene of beauty. And while it doesn't all make sense, it’s hard not to feel some sort of admiration
for the artisans who put such efforts in filming a simple horror sequence
for a nutty exploitation effort.
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| Some more proof of the film's cult potential by the people at Motifake.com. |
Such dedication to one’s craft is present
in many other aspects of production, including the work of several extras
portraying mere stiffs to be shot down by the protagonists. Covered in heavy
makeup and coated with dirt, these extras brave it all to convey a sense of
artistry to the depiction of gluttonous ghouls, even the presence of live worms
near their eyes and mouths. On the international poster for the film, such a ghoul
is prominently displayed, with pockets of worms squirming out of its empty
socket and patches of dirt seamlessly sticking to its cranium. Well, there’s a
man under all that latex and makeup, one who had to endure the discomforting
thought of having a runaway invertebrate fly into his mouth. Such involvement
is rare in the field of zombie films, and so is the aesthetic research put on
monster design itself. With Romero’s ineffectual blue strollers paling in
comparison, one is forced to admire the intricate details that constitute the
look of Fulci’s undead. And while some would prefer to highlight the
self-defeating nature of a project where more energy is spent on costumes than
any form of coherent screenplay, I would rather contend that the costumes’
contribution to the disturbing imagery and overall feeling of the film are more
invaluable to Zombie as a genre object than any
sort of comprehensive, Cartesian understanding that we might derive from any
sort of intricate narrative prowess.
From a technical standpoint, the film makes
clever use of the depth of field in its depiction of rampaging antagonistic
forces. As such, the showcase of disembodied zombie hands ominously moving in
on the protagonists is quite evocative. Fulci’s use of depth hits one
particular high note about halfway, providing yet another legendary sequence to
horror film history. This scene features a young woman being chased by a zombie
through her beachside cottage, ultimately taking shelter behind the locked door
of her bedroom. Unfortunately, the thin wooden panels prove not sturdy enough
to slow down her assailant, who merely claws his way through, grasping his
screaming victim firmly and dragging her face toward a large protruding
splinter, eventually plunging it into her eyeball. Using an alternation of
subjective and lateral shots, this sequence showcases not only Fulci’s knack
for involving spectators into a macabre game of substitution (the subjective
shots would’ve been an absolute shoe-in for any 3D production), but also the
incredible makeup job involved in creating the illusion of eyeball penetration.
Shades of Bunuel’s Un chien andalou are obvious,
but the radical update involved in transposing its imagery into the realm of
gory spectacle is quite welcome, and so is the renewed relevance it finds as a
metaphor of masochistic spectatorial violence.
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| Zombie is probably due for a 3D re-release... |
The subjective
frame is also put to good use in showcasing the monsters’ point of view.
Notwithstanding the numerous stalker shots taken in and around the island, by
then a stale staple of Italian exploitation cinema, it is helpful in portraying
the zombies’ awakening from their grave, as the dirt-covered lens seemingly
emerges from the ground to frame the cloudy sky above. Such usage of zombie POV
is gimmicky, but it helps put a well-needed twist on some overdetermined
images of zombie rampage. Finally, the zoom is also quite effective here in that it allows the
cautious exploration of space, and the gradual revelation of morbid elements
within the frame, most notably the multiplying number of shrouded corpses who start littering the gorgeous scenery as the curse spreads further and further.
Unfortunately,
while there is a steady help at the helm, it proceeds from a truly lackluster
writing effort. Despite an intriguing premise and a satisfying twist ending,
the screenplay is little more than a hollow shell, content as it is with throwing
dubious mythological lore and jumbled testimony around in a hopeless bid to
make sense of the zombie outbreak. In the end, despite the multiplication of hazy
eyewitness accounts, hearsay and the occasional scene entirely devoted to weird science,
we are never given any sort of synthetic explanation that would begin to make
sense of the events onscreen. This might prove abrasive for whoever would have
wished for definite results to Peter and Anne’s investigation, or for any sort
of comprehensive understanding of the zombie phenomena. But as it stands, we
are merely given insight as to the fleeting moods of several unidimensional
characters, flatly portrayed by a cast of unaffected actors from around the
world. And while these actors constantly fail to tie us emotionally to the story, the
spectacle of their ordeal speaks for itself, making us partake not in an
involving narrative, but in a breathtaking and gutsy display of horror.
The dramatic power derived from the film
has nothing to do with any sort of narrative prowess, which the screenwriters
didn’t care for, but with the sheer power of images. Hence, the sight of
corpses wrapped in white shrouds, all lined up in a beachside common grave with
bloody bullet holes in their head, proves much more evocative than the characters' multiple, but flat allusions to the curse and its victims. And so does the
spectacular finale in which the stranded protagonists take their final stand in
a local church, fending off their assailants with surprisingly potent blunt
weapons, rifles and Molotov cocktails, which they chuck at zombies who die in
fiery theatrics. Hence, the viewer's involvement with the film proceeds not from any emotional attachment to the characters, but with the maddening spectacle of their ordeal, fraught with brutal cannibalistic violence and the grotesque perversions of the human form. In typical Italian fashion, any notion of emotional realism is thus subservient to a highly sensuous, slightly oneiric depiction of horrific events. And while the cheesy orchestral score, by mammoth genre
composer and frequent Fulci collaborator Fabio Frizzi, gives some epic breathd
to the spectacle, its power of suggestion lies squarely in the images themselves, which pegs the film as a truly transcendent cinematographical endeavor, and not the mere sum of trite tribulations from a wordy screenplay.
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| Dramatically speaking, the film achieves much greater results with white shrouds than with any line of dialogue... |
In the end, while casual viewers will certainly be
underwhelmed by the progression of the protagonists’ investigation into Voodoo
lore and the rise of Caribbean undead, Zombie’s potent
imagery should keep them titillated throughout. Here, as in most Italian exploitation
films from that era, location shooting, makeup, gore effects, music and
photography are key to creating affect, which cannot be found in the screenplay
alone. The result is a true film experience and an unrestrained example of
Mediterannean craftsmanship in the realm of sensuous horror.
4/5
A perfect example of Italian savoir-faire, this exhilarating, but
derivative zombie film compensates for a lackluster screenplay by showcasing
some highly evocative, memorable imagery of death and decay.
