DAY 253--CREATURE OF THE WALKING DEAD

More mad scientist shenanigans, this time with a south-of-the-border flavor. CREATURE OF THE WALKING DEAD began as a 1961 Mexican film entitled LA MARCA DEL MUERTO, directed by Fernando Cortes. In 1965 schlockmeister Jerry Warren (responsible for such cinematic mishaps as TEENAGE ZOMBIES and THE WILD WORLD OF BATWOMAN) redubbed it into English and spliced in original, almost impossible to watch footage to make the film more comprehendable to domestic audiences. Needless to say, he didn't quite pull it off.

The original film features Rock Madison (or, under his equally-cool Mexican moniker, Fernando Casanova) in a dual role as a scientist who kills women for their blood--in order to maintain his eternal youth--and as the scientist's grandson, who re-enacts Grandpa's "experiments," using the female blood to resurrect his grandfather as a Frankenstein-like creature. Like most Mexican horror films of the '60s, it's a very atmospheric film, with the moody black-and-white photography creating a rich, Gothic feel; also, like most Mexican horror films of the '60s, it's pretty slow going, and unlike other film of the period like THE BLACK PIT OF DR. M, there's no real pay-off or memorable imagery to make it worth sitting through.

As laborious as the source material is, it's made even worse by Warren's intrusion. A few select scenes are dubbed like any other imported release, but the majority of the dialogue is restricted to dull-as-dirt voice-over narration that neither illuminates nor moves the story forward; it's a bit like watching a bad DVD commentary for the wrong movie. The new footage Warren shoehorns in isn't much better: most notably, a looong, static, talking-head information dump that features the unwanted sight of corpulent character actor Bruno VeSota (known for such B gems as ATTACK OF THE GIANT LEECHES and THE CHOPPERS) wrapped in a toga-like sheet getting what has to be the laziest massage ever recorded on film. Geez, Jerry, what'd we ever do to you?

Like the rest of Warren's output, CREATURE OF THE WALKING DEAD makes a better sleep aid than film. If you're inclined to see this, seek out the untainted original, or better yet, try some more enjoyable Mexi-horror films like THE MAN AND THE MONSTER or the ever-popular THE BRAINIAC.

DAY 252--ASTRO-ZOMBIES

Aficionados of cult cinema will no doubt be familiar with filmmaker Ted V. Mikels, director of everything from exploitation actioners like the CHARLIE'S ANGELS rip-off THE DOLL SQUAD to tame horror quickies such as BLOOD ORGY OF THE SHE-DEVILS. But perhaps his most famous title is the 1967 sci-fi/horror hybrid (conspicuously light on science or chills) ASTRO-ZOMBIES--though the presence of John Carradine and FASTER, PUSSYCAT! KILL! KILL! beauty Tura Satana contribute more to its fringe appeal than the so-called plot.

A half-baked spy "thriller" as much as science fiction, the story concerns a group of interchangeable CIA agents on the hunt for the demented Dr. DeMarco (Carradine), a former Space Agency scientist who's been up to no good. DeMarco's been conducting experiments on the cadavers of dead criminals, creating a super-powered "Quasi-Man" that escapes and embarks on a killing spree.

While one of Mikel's better-known films, ASTRO-ZOMBIES isn't nearly as fun as some of his other movies like THE CORPSE GRINDERS. Besides a needlessly convoluted and hard-to-follow espionage subplot, there's very little action involving the Astro-Zombies (or, really, Astro-Zombie, since the miniscule budget really couldn't afford a whole army of these things). Most of the picture consists of thuddingly dull expository speeches, and though no one really watches a Ted V. Mikels movie for its breakneck pace, it's still excruciatingly boring. Attempts to liven the festivities with a little exotic dancing are wasted, since the dancing on display's as exotic as Friday Night Bingo at the local VFW.

Interesting side note: M*A*S*H's Wayne Rogers is credited with co-writing the screenplay.

DAY 251--HOUSE OF THE DEAD 2: ALL GUTS, NO GLORY

Let's see, today we have 2005's HOUSE OF THE DEAD 2: ALL GUTS, NO GLORY, a sequel to a movie based on a video game (directed by Uwe Boll, don't forget) that premiered on the Sci-Fi Channel. Wow. The only way this film could've been any less appetizing would be if it featured kittens being skinned alive or David Spade. And you know what? It sucked even worse than I'd anticipated.

But at least I can say it wasn't disappointing, since right from its opening scene--where a group of numbnuts frat boys embark on a panty raid to justify enough gratuitous nudity for the DVD release--director Mike Hurst makes it abundantly clear this film is intended to be nothing but brain-dead filler programming. Even the film's premise hardly bothers to set up half a story: scientist Sid Haig--in a performance so blase he probably slipped a kid ten bucks to phone it in for him--accidentally unleashes a zombie plague on a university campus; 29 days later (the closest the film ever comes to creativity) the place is swarming with the living dead, or "hyper-sapiens" as the film calls them, and it's up to a crack team of soldiers (actually, the squad from ALIENS would've had them for breakfast--did these punks go through basic with the cast of STORM OF THE DEAD?) and zombie-killing scientists to infiltrate the campus and get rid of the zombies.

Even with a screenplay that feels like it was bashed out on a slow afternoon it would've been possible to make a decent flick, but Hurst and company simply don't give a shit. The plot moves slower than the zombies, with direction so inert you'll be yearning for the original film's 360-degree turntable abuse, and painfully unsuccessful stabs at humor (which isn't nearly as insulting as its attempts to reference Abu Gharib with photos of soldiers with dead girls). The characters are bland and one-dimensional, with thin performances--though to be fair, if I were an actor on this film, I'd do as little as possible, too. Photogenic but generic leads Ed Quinn and Emmanuelle Vaugier (as the requisite action babe, though frankly she's better in the babe department than the action) could probably do better with stronger material, and rapper Sticky Fingaz is certainly not the same actor here as he's been on THE SHIELD. But the gold star for laughable acting goes to James Parks, son of famed character actor Michael Parks, who mutters through his role like the poor man's--hell, the homeless man's--Michael Rooker.

When a movie's idea of characterization is having them converse with the brains of zombies cooling on their faces, you know you're stuck in bad movie hell, but with a movie as atrocious as pedigree as this one complaining's almost not allowed; you were expecting GUNGA DIN, maybe? Still, there's fun-bad movies and there are just-bad movies--I've been known to kick back with a copy of TROLL 2 now and then, but are there people who really find this a viable entertainment option of any kind?

DAY 250--BRIDE OF THE FLESH-EATING ZOMBIES FROM OUTER SPACE

Another student zombie short, since apparently I'm only fulfilled when I'm wasting brain cells by the bucketload. This 2006 offering from directors Elliot Marks and Alex Whitington is an ode to the so-bad-they're-good school of vintage sci-fi cinema, particularly the works of Ed Wood. And, like dozens of other amateur filmmakers, they seem to assume that if you're parodying bad movies you've got free license to suck as much as humanly possible. (Allow me to refer way back to Day 3's entry, I WAS A ZOMBIE FOR THE FBI, which proves that you can draw inspiration from hokey films and still be quite entertaining.)

BRIDE OF THE FLESH-EATING ZOMBIES FROM OUTER SPACE begins with an introduction by an horrendous Criswell stand-in, who goes to great lengths to warn viewers just how terrifying the movie is. It's a grating performance, though I did like his hyperbolic spiel (at least until it started getting beaten into the ground--there's enough drawn-out jokes in this thing to make Mike Myers gnash his teeth), but once the non-professional cast starts mumbling their way through the short, it becomes quite apparent that the Criswell wannabe is easily the highlight of the damned thing.

A few easy sight-gags are worked into the proceedings (like a boom mike intentionally lowered into frame), and the filmmakers managed to shoot in black-and-white for the proper look, but most of the "story" consists of high-school age students spouting dialogue--much of which sounds made up on the spot--that makes little sense, nor is it nowhere near as funny as these kids think it is. (Ever get stuck somewhere with a bunch of teenagers trading amusing anecdotes with each other? This is as hilarious as that.) I really wish I could tell you more, but I spent most of the short's interminable running time (eighteen of the longest fucking minutes I've ever spent) driving toothpicks under my fingernails to distract from the pain.

Seriously, this is one awful, awful little short, one that I'd advise you to give a wide berth. I really feel guilty even posting it here with the review, since your life will be far more richer without it, but I know the morbidly curious among you will feel compelled to seek it out anyway, and you should expend as little as energy as possible on this thing.

So here you go, ya fuckin' masochists.

DAY 249--BRIDE OF RE-ANIMATOR

Sequels can be a tricky prospect, at least when it comes to follow-ups to movies that are classics, cult or otherwise; whereas most slasher franchises can simply slap a Roman numeral on a new draft of the script and call it a day, films that were a little more nuanced or complex don't have the same luxury. I'm sure producer Brian Yuzna thought about this when he set out to make a sequel to the uproarious RE-ANIMATOR in 1990; how does one attempt to expand--or, as all sequels should strive to do--top such a well-made picture as the first one? Give Yuzna credit for trying to do something different with BRIDE OF RE-ANIMATOR--most producers would be happy to just cobble a screenplay together as quickly as possible and let the previous movie's rabid fan base do the rest--but the finished product is less than satisfying.

Taking over directorial duties for BRIDE, Yuzna reunites Bruce Abbott, Jeffrey Combs, and the late David Gale to continue Dr. Herbert West's quest to perfect the reanimation of dead tissue. And while it's a treat to see each actor revisiting their roles, the chemistry isn't there, inadvertently underscoring just how important Stuart Gordon and Dennis Paoli were to the first film's success. It doesn't help that BRIDE's script--written by Rick Fry and Woody Keith, who also penned the delirious SOCIETY for Yuzna--keeps Gale's Dr. Hill from menacing West until the very end (most of Gale's screen time is spent in clunky, humorless scenes with Mel Stuart), opting to put Claude Earl Jones in as the main antagonist, a vindictive police detective looking for revenge (his wife was a victim of the original's Miskatonic massacre--a nice tie-in). The script also complicates things further by adding a love triangle for Abbott with a South American beauty (Fabiana Udenio) and a terminally-ill patient that West has plans for (played by Kathleen Kinmont). But the biggest question remains: how in the blue fuck did these guys get positions at Miskatonic University just eight months after unleashing a bloody zombie massacre there?

One of the ill-advised adjustments BRIDE makes is with Herbert West; in the first movie he was a pursuer of forbidden knowledge, obsessed with conquering the permanence of death. Here, he's more of a traditional mad scientist and not as interesting a character. His experiments this time around--not only with the titular piece-meal cadaver, but his mix-and-match approach to spare body parts--are more like those conducted by the Third Reich. And while the movie often feel more like a vehicle for special effects than storytelling (though with six different fx houses in the credits, that's probably inevitable), most of the creations are unique and eye-catching, particularly those by surrealist maestro Screaming Mad George (whatever happened to that guy?)

For the most part BRIDE coasts along by being just good enough to be interesting, but when it reaches its climax--where Abbott and Combs bring their creation to life--it really drops the ball. The reanimated Kinmont not only presages Mindy Clarke's undead sex goddess in RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD PART 3 (just what was it about Yuzna and the sexualization of dead women?), but it raises some disturbing questions about West's true motivations--especially his indignation when she refuses to be subservient--questions that're dropped as soon as they raise their head.

All in all, BRIDE OF RE-ANIMATOR isn't a terrible film, but it really isn't a good one, either. I suppose it could've been worse, and considering how well the first one turned out it's inevitable a sequel just wouldn't compare (in the world of low-budget horror it's tough to capture lightning in a bottle once, much less repeat it).

DAY 248--TOMBS OF THE BLIND DEAD

Having already written about THE GHOST GALLEON and NIGHT OF THE SEAGULLS, the concluding chapters of the Blind Dead series, a review of TOMBS OF THE BLIND DEAD would be somewhat redundant since Amando de Ossorio established most of what made those films effective in his 1971 original. And while the films are similar to one another in technique and approach, TOMBS remains the most straightforward and pure, free of the embellishments de Ossorio would add in later installments.

One of the most evocative titles in the annals of Spanish horror cinema, TOMBS is little more than a few frightening set-pieces strung together with a minimum of character or exposition, but what it lacks in narrative weight it more than compensates in atmosphere--be it the almost palpable Gothic ambiance, or the deceptively idyllic pastoral backdrop that counterpoints the macabre setting.

Not a whole lot happens in the film--in which the skeletal remains of the Knights Templar prey upon those who've disturbed them--but it's the way it happens that makes TOMBS such a remarkable film. De Ossorio does a tremendous job of sustaining a careful, deliberate pace (though today's attention-deficient audiences might find themselves squirming) that only falters in setting up its final act. I'm finding it hard to discuss much of the story--since there really isn't one to speak of--but the smidgen of plot that's there progresses nicely, existing with the sole purpose of being as creepy as possible. The initial appearance of the Knights Templar is a low-key stand-out (a sequence so effective de Ossorio cribbed it for two of the subsequent sequels), as is the suitably nightmarish climax in which the Knights lay siege to the passengers of a train, the withheld gore making a greater impact when it finally occurs.

While de Ossorio's use of mood is the film's best aspect, it's easy to overlook how skillfully he utilizes sound to create tension and suspense. From the ominous chanting that serves as the movie's soundtrack or the slowed-down rhythm of hoof-beats as the Templars ride on undead horseback, TOMBS's audio is as efficient as its atmosphere; it's best represented in the scene in which the Templars (who, as the title tells us are sightless, rely on sound to follow their quarry) track a victim by her heartbeat. Or the final moments of the picture, as de Ossorio uses sound and still-shots to convey the horror of the concluding train massacre.

Though the whole BLIND DEAD series is worth watching, TOMBS is the most accomplished, using all of its elements to greatest effect, and the one I'd recommend to curious beginners. One of my all-time favorite zombie films.

DAY 247--HELL'S GROUND

One of the joys of international cinema is finding a film wholly inspired by Hollywood yet filtered through a different cultural sensibility. Pete Tombs, who's brought many mind-boggling oddities stateside under his Mondo Macabro label, co-wrote and co-produced this 2007 debut from Pakistani director Omar Ali Khan, a film that's simultaneously unique (in that it's like nothing you've ever seen) and derivative (it draws inspiration from several classic horror films). Though far from a perfect, or possibly good, film, HELL'S GROUND is still worthy of attention.

Taking its cue from domestic fare like THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE and FRIDAY THE 13TH, it starts off very much like any teens-in-peril film as a group of youths head out to attend a concert. And like their slasher-flick predecessors, they can be just as obnoxious, partying and smoking weed (one character, played by Rubya Chaudhry, does double-duty as both the arrogant bitch and the whiny pain in the ass), wanting nothing more than a good time when an ill-advised short-cut puts them in harm's way.

It's times like these that I wish I was more knowledgeable about foreign cultures, since I'm curious just how envelope-pushing the drug use and F-bombs really are (not to mention a premise that has unwed men and women spending the night together away from home). Just as the '80s slasher boom reflected the conservative tone of the Reagan era, HELL'S GROUND seems to reinforce the prevailing moral values. "Good Muslims should be getting ready for their evening prayers," intones the film's Creepy Old Man before the characters stumble obliviously toward death.

And while HELL'S GROUND proclaims itself as Pakistan's first zombie movie, the living dead play a very small role in the proceedings, making a brief appearance around the thirty-minute mark for a little entrail-munching. Definitely Romero-inspired, Khan's zombies are just different enough to be effective--or they would be, had they been given something to do. The undead here are merely plot devices, quickly abandoned after setting up a "subplot" that ultimately amounts to a cheap punchline for the film's ending. (Though I did like how Khan added clouds of buzzing flies that hover over the zombies as they feed, a cleverly disturbing detail that brings to mind the true living dead among starving Third World countries.)

What Khan really set out to make was a Pakistani version of THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE, complete with troublesome hitchhiker and deranged family members (limited here to just a single crazed mother) to terrorize the vanload of teens, but HELL'S GROUND's greatest asset is Baby, a hulking, inarticulate killing machine and Leatherface surrogate. Baby lives in a claustrophobic, slaughterhouse-like dwelling straight out of an Eli Roth wet dream, and his initial appearance, while not as brutally efficient, strongly echoes that of Gunnar Hansen's in the original CHAINSAW. (I also loved his weapon of choice, a spiked metal ball that he swings on a chain--a conceit that sounds rather silly until you see it in action.) And, like his Texas counterpart, Baby's a cross-dresser, wearing a burqa on his killing spree (Mama also refers to him as her daughter, further adding to his gender-confusion).

Despite Khan's unabashed love for American horror and his fervent enthusiasm, HELL'S GROUND still has its share of flaws. The rather slow build-up of the first act never really gains any momentum, and there are quite a few dry spells in between the bursts of gore and mayhem. And what should've been a gut-wrenching climax as Baby hunts down the surviving cast members is hindered by poor pacing and clumsy timing of its shocks, as well as constant shifts in tone.

However, I'd still recommend it, if only to see so many beloved classics of the genre reinterpreted in new ways. Unlike other fan-oriented films like PLAGA ZOMBIE: MUTANT ZONE which simply regurgitate the favorite portions of its inspirations, Khan attempts to imbue his rehashes with his own personal style and vision (and there are several moments where he shows off his imaginative directorial flair). It can be uneven and sloppy at times, but the results are always fascinating.