Thunderball (1965)

Posted on November 14, 2013 by badblokebob

There is, I think, a degree of consensus amongst Bond fans (both serious and casual) about a great number of things. Everyone has their personal favourites and dislikes that go against the norm, of course, but there are few things that are genuinely divisive on a large scale. It’s largely accepted that Goldfinger is the distillation of The Bond Formula, for instance; or that any new Bond is judged against the yardstick of Connery; that On Her Majesty’s Secret Service is one of the better films, but long-maligned for its re-cast/miscast lead; that Moore was too old by the end; that GoldenEye was a great re-invention of the franchise; that Casino Royale was the same for a decade later; that Moonraker and Die Another Day and Quantum of Solace are rubbish; and so on. But nonetheless, a couple of things do generate a split of opinion — how good (or not) were Timothy Dalton and his films, for example. This is where I’d place Thunderball.

Adjusted for inflation, Thunderball is still the highest grossing Bond film of all time. It’s where the Bond phenomenon really kicked in. Popularity and success had built across the previous three films, reaching an unexpected fervour during the release of Goldfinger (just look at some of the footage of crowds at premieres on the DVD/Blu-ray), but Thunderball was something else again. Here the series gets big in every way, and obviously so: on screen, it’s in luscious 2.35:1, as opposed to the more TV-ish 1.66:1 of the previous films; there’s an awful lot of grand, expensive-looking underwater stunt work; and it’s relatively long too, the first Bond to pass two hours (and, even in the nicest possible way, it feels it). Accompanying it was an array of merchandising that, at least as I understand it, wouldn’t be seen again for years (these days it’s par for the course, kicked off by Star Wars, but could Lucas’ insistence on retaining and exploiting those rights have been inspired by earlier stuff such as this? I’ve no idea; some Star Wars fan might). The legacy of this is that some people absolutely adore Thunderball, especially if they’re of the generation who saw it on release.

Over time, this reputation has dwindled. This is all anecdotal, but it seems to appear less often at the top of lists, retrospective review scores seem to be lower, and so on. Personally, I’ve never liked it. My draft review from last time I watched it (around 2006) notes the “numerous faults: Bond ridiculously stumbles upon the plot while on holiday, the sped-up fight sequences, a fair bit of pointless running around, villains not nearly as menacing as those encountered before… There’s also something slightly undefinable that’s suddenly missing — it doesn’t have that same (for want of a better word) magic that the films before and after it do.” There’s also the never-ending climactic underwater battle, which I can’t believe I didn’t mention.

Well, to cut to the chase, and much to my surprise, this time I actually enjoyed Thunderball rather a lot. I still think it’s the weakest Bond to date, and I could add even more flaws to the above list — its bloated running time, partly the fault of a meandering story in need of tightening and streamlining, and so on — but if you just accept a few of those, allow them to wash over you as it were, then it’s quite good fun. For all its flaws, it’s also packed with brilliant moments: the scene at the Kiss Kiss Club is arguably the best-directed bit in the series to date, and remains one of my favourite moments from any Bond; then there’s the jet pack, indeed the whole opening titles; almost any scene between Bond and one of the numerous females; “I think he got the point”; Domino’s (first) swimming costume… Um, where was I?

Thunderball is never going to be my favourite Bond, or even my favourite of the Connerys; but rather than battling with Diamonds are Forever for which is his worst, it’s now contending with Dr. No for which is highest in the middle. That is, from my point of view, a pretty big shift.

Reviewed as part of an overview of the Bond movies. For more, see here.

Goldfinger (1964)

Posted on November 14, 2013 by badblokebob

It’s long been held as a truism that, though it’s the third film, Goldfinger really defined ‘the Bond formula’; and I’ve long argued against that, pointing to the elements that were ready-to-go in Dr. No and added by From Russia with Love. While that’s not untrue, it’s fair to say that Goldfinger is the Bond formula distilled: the previous two films may have debuted many key ingredients, but it’s Goldfinger that adds the finishing touches and perfects the recipe.

It’s also where the Bond phenomenon began to kick in, reaching its height with Thunderball the year after, and has oft been cited as The Greatest Bond Film — meaning there have been more than enough words written about it (whole books, I’ve no doubt) down the years. What little can I add? Not much, I’m sure, but reiterate what you already know. So instead I’ll say this: Goldfinger isn’t my favourite Bond film. I didn’t even like it that much last time I watched it (the running best-of list I was compiling last time I watched all the Bond films ranks it below three other Connerys), probably due to the constant high expectation placed upon it. My draft review called it “less than the sum of its parts”. Now, I think that’s a bit harsh.

However, I did also note that “those parts are mostly so excellent that its still a greatly entertaining film, and, I’m sure, not undeserving of the adulation lavished upon it by so many”, and that’s certainly true. You only have to list bits to bring back fond memories: the pre-titles (filled with multiple memorable moments, even if it’s completely unrelated to the rest of the story); the title song; the title sequence (by Robert Brownjohn, not Maurice Binder); the gold-painted girl; the gold game; Oddjob and the statue; the Q scene (despite Goldfinger’s Q-branch-tour being the archetype, it’s not repeated in a similar manner for decades); the gadget-laden car; the stunning Swiss locations; “no Mr Bond, I expect you to die”; Pussy Galore; the epic raid on Fort Knox; Oddjob and the electricity; the clock stopping at 007; Goldfinger being sucked out of the plane; hiding from rescue in the life raft… That’s quite a haul. Even the less feasible bits, like the cardboard-cut-out gangsters, have a certain charm.

I’d forgotten just how funny it is too. That’s part of ‘the Bond formula’, of course, and it is present in Connery’s first two films. There, however, it’s more akin to the Daniel Craig era: just flashes of wit and sarcasm; but Goldfinger is where it’s really defined — and in the right balance, unlike some later entries. Although Russia debuts a couple of them, this is really where the famous Bond puns make their mark (“Shocking. Positively shocking.”); but not only those, because there’s a scattering of general humour too. After Bond’s attempted escape at Auric Stud, the roomful of henchmen guarding him, revealed by Hamilton through a slow camera move, has always been one of my favourite gags in the series.

If you think about it too much then the plot is like a machine-gunned windscreen — spattered with holes. But they’re mostly minor niggles rather than glaring errors, and it’s more than covered by the fun you’re having. There are several films that would contend the top spot on my list of Favourite Bond Films and Goldfinger probably isn’t one of them, but that’s a personal thing and it’s surely destined for at least the top ten.

Reviewed as part of an overview of the Bond movies. For more, see here.

From Russia With Love (1963)

Posted on November 14, 2013 by badblokebob

If Dr. No gives the impression that the cinematic James Bond was born almost fully formed, then its sequel stands in stark contrast: with hindsight, it’s hard to avoid the fact that, for great swathes of its running time, From Russia With Love doesn’t feel that much like A James Bond Film. And yet it is nonetheless one of Fleming’s best novels turned into one of the series’ absolute best movies.

Uncommonly, it’s a very faithful rendition of the book. That makes it a Cold War spy thriller, albeit one with fantastical touches — it switches the novel’s Russian villains for Blofeld’s independent SPECTRE organisation, which is duping both the Brits and Ruskies. Mostly, though, it feels remarkably plausible. Sequences like the theft of a decoding machine from the Russian consulate, or the famous confined train carriage fight with Red Grant, have real-world heft rather than typical Bond action sequence fantasticism. With the Daniel Craig era (and Timothy Dalton, if only in retrospect for many) the franchise’s later years have shown it has room for both.

Indeed, those who note Craig’s general toughness undercut with the odd sliver of wit or sarcasm would do well to take another look at films like this one. At this early stage Connery’s Bond can be cold and calculating, as in the sniper-ish assassination of a Russian agent, or the previous film’s wait for Dent. He even slaps a woman. She’s drugged so perhaps it’s not entirely uncalled for, especially by the era’s standards, but it still strikes the viewer. Plus he’s not throwing out puns at every opportunity, or quipping with every particularly notable dispatch of a villain, but instead tosses the odd line or even just glance. There’s a direct line between this and the Craig films, neither of which seemly hugely similar to the more comical Moore (or even Brosnan) era.

In terms of the franchise’s development, FRWL does offer us the pre-titles action scene. Not scripted as such, but moved in the edit for effect, it was producer Harry Saltzman’s idea to kill off the hero in the opening minutes. Even when you know what’s going on, it’s still an impactful sequence. It segues wonderfully into Robert Brownjohn’s title sequence, with the credits projected onto close-ups of gyrating half-naked women. They have some relevance to the film itself rather than being wholly gratuitous (see the gypsy camp scene), but between this and his similar work on Goldfinger, Brownjohn’s significance to the familiar style of the Bond title sequence is perhaps understated. These aren’t the silhouettes and complex visual choreography of Binder’s even more distinctive work, but it’s a step in that direction from the flowing dots of Dr. No.

At times in the series’ past, From Russia With Love has been overlooked as an anomaly; a serious-minded stumbling block in the series throughline of outlandishness that leads directly from Dr. No to Goldfinger to hollowed out volcanoes in You Only Live Twice and the daftness that characterised so much of the Moore years. Recently, it’s garnered appreciation, both as not that much of a sore thumb and as an exceptional film in its own right. It’s well-deserved, because on any level this is one of the absolute best the series has to offer.

Reviewed as part of an overview of the Bond movies. For more, see here.

Dr. No (1962)

Posted on November 14, 2013 by badblokebob

“Bond. James Bond.”

It’s a line we’re all over-familiar with now, almost to the point of cliché (which is why it’s largely been dropped from the Craig-era reboot), but it became that way because of the moment, precisely eight minutes in to Dr. No, when it’s uttered on screen for the very first time. (Wouldn’t it have been good if they’d managed to place it at exactly seven minutes?) Sean Connery reportedly spent a whole morning fluffing the line before, in true Scottish style, having a large stiff drink at lunch and then nailing it in one. But credit for the moment’s impact is at least as much due to director Terence Young, keeping Connery’s face off screen to the point of absurdity, delaying the reveal through a lengthy stretch of card game, until Sylvia Trench asks her simple question, and suddenly there he is, cigarette hanging from his lip, the now-famous theme bursting onto the soundtrack… It’s a moment that is built to be iconic, and my how it succeeded!

But that’s how an awful lot of Dr. No is constructed. Witness the posters — “the first James Bond film adventure!” Who would dare make such a claim today? Imagine if they tried putting that on John Carter, say — and that’s precisely why they don’t. The Bond series wouldn’t become the phenomenon we know until Goldfinger, a hit that’s also largely credited with defining the formula, and Thunderball, a genuine global mega-hit of epic proportions. Yet for that received wisdom about Goldfinger, ever so much of the familiar Bond recipe is here from the off: the gun barrel sequence, a dramatic pre-titles (albeit post-titles here), the music-driven silhouetted-girls-filled title sequence (even if they’re clothed here), Bond’s casual attitude towards women, his dry humour, his relationships with M and Moneypenny, his detective skills, his fighting skills, his driving skills, the megalomaniac villain, his extravagant lair, and of course the Bond girls — indeed, for all of the fame of Goldfinger’s gold-covered beauty on the bed, Honey emerging from the ocean is still the most iconic Bond girl of them all. And I imagine there’s more I’ve neglected to include.

As a film, Dr No could come off as a funny old mix. It starts off as a fairly straight spy thriller, but gradually slips in some more extreme elements until, captured on the titular villain’s island, it goes all-out ’60s pulp sci-fi — an underground base, hewn from rock, linked with huge metallic doors or Star Trek-esque sliding numbers, lit with a purple glow; vast angular rooms housing nuclear equipment and sundry other faux-scientific gadgetry… I don’t know if Ken Adams’ set defined this iconography or were born of it, but think of ’60s futurism and the design work in Dr No’s lair is what will come to mind.

The other advantage Dr. No has is its as-yet-undefined Bond. So there’s fewer puns, but instead wit and sarcasm. He’s more ruthless, too: for my money, the sequence where he sets himself up in Miss Kano’s house to wait patiently for the arrival of Dent, then dispatches him with a combination of preparation (“that’s a Smith & Wesson, and you’ve had your six”) and an arguably-unnecessary second shot, just to be sure, is amongst the series’ finest depictions of the reality behind Bond’s line of work. Plus, freed from the need to constantly Do Bond-Like Things, we get some solid detective work from our hero, rather than just turning up and saving the day. To put it another way, there’s a mystery and a story, not just a series of set pieces.

It’s often overshadowed by the films that follow it, and not without reason (as we’ll see in a minute, From Russia With Love is a fine Cold War spy thriller in its own right, and Goldfinger does refine the formula to a repeatable point), but it would be wrong to ignore Dr. No. It’s not yet quite the typical Bond movie, but it’s close enough that the casual observer wouldn’t notice, and it’s an exciting, fun beginning to a franchise.

Screenwriter Wolf Mankowitz took his name off the film when he saw the dailies, fearing a huge flop; but, as history has shown, whoever came up with the poster’s tagline was closer to the mark.

Reviewed as part of an overview of the Bond movies. For more, see here.

Make/Remake: Doctor Who and the Daleks

Posted on November 9, 2013 by badblokebob

Doctor Who:
The Daleks

and

Dr. Who and
the Daleks

Doctor Who: The Daleks
1963-4 | Christopher Barry & Richard Martin | 172 mins | DVD | 4:3 | UK / English | U

In a fortnight’s time, on the 23rd of November 2013, Doctor Who will celebrate its golden anniversary — 50 years to the day since the premiere broadcast of its first episode, An Unearthly Child. Those 25 minutes of 1960s TV drama still stand up to viewing today. OK, you couldn’t show them on primetime BBC One anymore; but the writing, acting, even the direction, and certainly the sheer volume of ideas squeezed into such a short space of time, are all extraordinary. It is, genuinely, one of the best episodes of television ever produced.

But that’s not why Doctor Who is still here half a century later. It may be the strength of that opening episode, the ideas and concepts it introduced, that has actually sustained the programme through 26 original series, a 16-year break, and 8 years (and counting) of revived mainstream importance; but that’s not what secured the chance to prove the series’ longevity. That would come a few weeks after the premiere, in the weeks before and after Christmas 1963, when producer Verity Lambert went against her boss’ specific orders and allowed “bug-eyed monsters” into the programme — in the shape of the Daleks.

Something about those pepperpot-shaped apparently-robotic villains clicked with the British public, and Dalekmania was born. Toys and merchandise flowed forth. The series soon began to include serials featuring the Daleks on a regular basis. And, naturally, someone snapped up the movie rights.

Rather than an original storyline, the ensuing film was an adaptation of the TV series’ first Dalek serial. These days you probably wouldn’t bother with such a thing, thanks to the abundance of DVD/Blu-ray/download releases and repeats by both the original broadcaster and channels like Watch; but back then, when TV was rarely repeated and there certainly wasn’t any way to own it, retelling the Daleks’ fabled origins on the big screen probably made sense. Nonetheless, there was an awareness that the filmmakers were asking people to pay for something they could get — or, indeed, had had — for free on the telly. Hence why the film is in super-wide widescreen and glorious colour, both elements emphasised in the advertising. The film is big and bold, whereas the TV series, by comparison, is perhaps a little small, in black & white on that tiny screen in the corner of your living room…

But, really, that was never the point. Doctor Who has always thrived on its stories rather than its spectacle (even today, when there’s notably more spectacle, it’s those episodes that offer original ideas or an emotional impact that endure in fans’ (and regular viewers’) memories). The plot of The Daleks is, by and large, a good’un, and certainly relevant to its ’60s origins — its inspiration comes both from the Nazis, not yet 20 years passed, and the threat of nuclear annihilation, at a time when the Cold War was at its peak. The film adaptation is so unremittingly faithful (little details have changed, but not the main sweep) that these themes remain, all be it subsumed by the COLOUR and ADVENTURE of the big-screen rendition.

The Daleks were, are, and probably always will be, a pretty blatant Nazi analogy. There’s not anything wrong with that, though its debatable how much there is to learn from it. Where it perhaps becomes interesting is the actions of the other characters. Here we’re on the Daleks’ homeworld, Skaro, which is also populated by a race of humanoids, the Thals. They are pacifists and, when they learn the Daleks want to kill them all, decide it would be best to just leave rather than fight back. The Doctor’s companion Ian has other ideas, goading them into standing up for themselves. These days the idea that our heroes would take a pacifist race and turn them into warmongers strikes a bum note; but this is a serial made by a generation who remember the war, perhaps even some who fought in it, and naturally that colours your perception of both warfare and what’s worth fighting for. The Daleks aren’t just some distasteful-to-us foreign regime that maybe we should leave be unless they threaten us directly — they’re Nazis; they’re coming to get us; they must be stopped.

On the other hand, this is contrasted with Skaro itself — an irradiated wasteland, the only plant and animal life petrified, with the Thals and our time-travelling heroes requiring medication to survive. This is a Bad Thing… but this is where war has led, isn’t it? This is why the Thals are pacifists — because they don’t want this to happen again. And then they go and have a fight. Perhaps we shouldn’t be digging so deeply into the themes after all. It’s not that a “children’s series” like Doctor Who is incapable of sustaining their weight, it’s that writer and Dalek creator Terry Nation is really more of an adventure storyteller. That said, he did go on to create terrorists-are-the-good-guys saga Blake’s 7 and how-does-society-survive-post-apocalypse thriller Survivors, so maybe I’m doing him a disservice.

If the film’s rendering of the story and consequent themes is near-identical to its TV counterpart, plenty of other elements aren’t. The most obvious, in terms of adaptation, is that its 90 minutes shorter — roughly half the length. That’s not even the whole story, though: the film is newbie friendly, meaning it spends the first seven minutes introducing the Doctor and his friends. When we take out credits too, it spends 75 minutes on its actual adaption — or a little over 10 minutes for each of the original 25-minute episodes. And yet, I don’t think anything significant is cut. Even the three-episode trek across the planet that makes up so much of the serial’s back half is adapted in full, the only change being one character lives instead of dies (a change as weak as it sounds, in my view).

The funny thing is, even at such a short length it can feel pretty long. It’s that trek again, as Ian, Barbara and some of the Thals make their way to the back of the Dalek city to mount the climactic assault. It feels like padding to delay the climax, and some say it is: reportedly Nation struggled to fill the seven-episode slot he was given, hence the meandering. When it came to the film, Nation insisted Doctor Who’s script editor David Whittaker was hired to write the screenplay (apparently the trade-off was that producer Milton Subotsky got a credit for it too), which perhaps explains the faithfulness. It’s a shame in a way that Whittaker just produced an abridgement, because a restructured and re-written version for the massively-shorter running time might have paced it up a bit.

The most obvious change — the one that gets the fans’ goat, and why so many dislike the film to this day — comes in those opening seven minutes. On TV, the Doctor (as he is known) is a mysterious alien time traveller, his mid-teen granddaughter Susan is also a bit odd, and Ian and Barbara are a pair of caring teachers who he kidnaps to maintain his own safety. In the film, the title character is Dr. Who — that’s the human Mr. Who with a doctorate — who has a pair of granddaughters, pre-teen Susan and twenty-ish Barbara, while Ian is the latter’s clumsy fancyman. They visit the time machine that Dr. Who has knocked up in his backyard, where clumsy old Ian sends them hurtling off to an alien world. In many respects this is once again the difference between TV and film: the former is an intriguing setup that takes time to explain and will play out over a long time (decades, as it’s turned out — the Doctor is still a mysterious figure, even if we know a helluva lot more about him now than we did at the start of The Daleks), while the latter gives us a quick sketch of some people for 80 minutes of entertainment. Plus, making Ian a bumbler adds some quick comedy, ‘essential’ for a kids’ film.

Even more different is Peter Cushing’s portrayal of the Doctor. At the start of the TV series, William Hartnell’s rendition of the titular character is spiky, manipulative, tricksy, and in many respects unlikeable. In the first serial he even considers killing someone in order to aid his escape! Not the Doctor we know today. As time went on Hartnell softened, becoming a loveable grandfather figure. It’s this version that Cushing adopts in the film, with a sort of waddly walk and little glasses, looking and behaving completely differently to his roles in all those Hammer horrors. If proof were needed of Cushing’s talent, just put this side by side with one of those films. But this was at a time when Hartnell was the Doctor — with ten men ‘officially’ having replaced him in the TV series (not to mention Peter Capaldi to come, a recast Hartnell in The Five Doctors, and various others on stage, audio, fan films, and so on), it’s easy to forget that Cushing taking over must have been a bit weird. It certainly put Hartnell’s nose out of joint. And for all Cushing’s niceness and versatility across his career, Hartnell’s Doctor is a more varied, nuanced, and interesting character.

You can see why fans don’t like it — it’s not proper Doctor Who. I think that’s not helped by the film’s prominence in the minds of ordinary folk. During the ’90s, when Who was out of favour at the BBC (except with Enterprises/Worldwide, for whom it’s always made a fortune), the main way to see it was with repeats of the films on TV. Even before that, I’m sure the films have been screened much more regularly than the serials that inspired them. Plus the general public don’t understand that Cushing isn’t a real Doctor (even now, you see people asking why he isn’t in the trailers for the 50th anniversary, and so on), which just rubs it in. But if you let that baggage go (which you really should), Dr. Who and the Daleks is an entertaining version of the TV serial.

And yet… it isn’t as good. The widescreen colour looks good, sure, and the Daleks’ tall ‘ears’ are an improvement (hence why they were adopted for TV in the 2005 revival), but other than that the design is lacking. The console room in the TARDIS is another iconic piece of design, the six-sided central console and roundel-decorated walls having endured in one form or another throughout the show’s life (even if some of it’s become increasingly obscured in the iterations since the 1996 TV movie). In the film, however, it’s just… a messy room. There are control units and chairs and stuff bunged around, with a mess of wires draped about the place. On TV it looks like a slick futuristic spaceship; on film it looks like a junkyard. Oh dear.

Then there’s the Dalek city. The film’s version is more grand, with lengthy corridors rather than the faked photo-backdrops used on TV; but that’s besides the point, because that very grandness undermines its impact. The Daleks’ corridors on TV feel truly alien — they’re the same height as the Daleks, which is about a foot smaller than most of our leads, meaning they’re constantly having to duck through doorways. It’s perfectly thought-through design, led by how the place would actually have been built rather than making it convenient for the cast. The film’s city is the opposite, with big doorways and rooms. It’s a minor point perhaps, but it can leave an impression.

Ridley Scott is, by and large, a great film director, and is responsible for at least two of the all-time greatest science-fiction movies; but I doubt even his 26-year-old self, then a BBC staff designer originally assigned to work on Doctor Who’s second serial, could have come up with a more iconic look for the Daleks than Raymond P. Cusick. With the exception of the ‘ears’ and the colour scheme, his design is rendered faithfully from TV to film, because it’s so good. Why does it work? I have no idea. Perhaps because it’s genuinely alien — they’re not in any way the same shape or size as a human. Of course, it sort of is: the design is based around being able to fit a man sitting down, in order to control it — but it doesn’t look like that. Then there’s the way they glide, the screechy voice, the sink-plunger instead of some kind of hand or claw… It’s a triumph, and it works just as well in gaudy colours on film as it does in simple black and white.

Thanks to being just on contract, Cusick’s contribution to the Daleks and Doctor Who can be overlooked. Even after the creatures became a phenomenal success, the most he managed to get was a £100 bonus and a gold Blue Peter badge; though as the latter is practically a knighthood, it could be worse. Nation, meanwhile, reaped the rewards (though no gold badge), to the extent that today his estate control whether the Daleks can appear in Doctor Who or not. Nation gets a credit every time they appear; Cusick doesn’t. Obviously Nation is owed much of this, but Cusick is too: without that design, the Daleks would have been nothing. Thankfully, the making of Doctor Who is probably the most thoroughly researched and documented TV production of all time, and even if he doesn’t get an onscreen credit on new episodes or any financial rewards for his family, Cusick’s name is well-known in fan circles — the outpouring of appreciation when he passed away last February was equal to that received by many of the programme’s leading actors (always a more obvious object of adulation).

I think the Dalek films aren’t given the credit they’re due by many Doctor Who fans. There’s a reason for that, but those reasons are past. The original stories have been available on VHS and then DVD for decades now, meaning the films aren’t the only way to experience these adventures any more. Plus, as the relaunched show has established Doctor Who as a contemporary popular TV series, so the general populace sees it as a franchise that has had three leading men; or, for the better-informed masses, eleven. Whenever the series brings up past Doctors (and that’s surprisingly often, considering the “come on in, it’s brand new!” tone in 2005), Cushing isn’t among them. While he may once have been a prominent face associated with the show to non-fans, the ‘war’ has been ‘won’ — he’s become a footnote.

Maybe it will take a while for fans to stop being so stuck in their ways, but I hope they do and can embrace the Dalek movies as fun alternatives — they don’t replace the originals, but should stand proudly alongside them as symbols of Doctor Who’s success.

Next time… the Daleks invade Earth twice, as I compare the second Dalek serial to its big screen remake.

Survival of the Dead (2009)

Posted on November 2, 2013 by badblokebob

Once, zombie auteur George A. Romero commented that he’d hoped to make one zombie film a decade — witness Night of the Living Dead in 1968, Dawn of the Dead in 1978, and Day of the Dead in 1985. So why, then, did he churn out three new zombie flicks in four years, between Land of the Dead in 2005 and Survival in 2009? On the US Blu-ray, he explains.

Money.

Yep. As Romero tells the story, after Land of the Dead he had an idea for a film about ‘citizen journalism’. He wanted to make it quickly, before someone else had the same idea (sadly, several such films were already well into development, but hey, he didn’t know that), so how better to make a film quickly and cheaply than by turning to what he knew — zombies. The result, Diary of the Dead, was made so cheaply that, despite a limited release, it turned a healthy profit. Cue pressure on Romero to turn out another to capitalise on this success. So he did. And that probably explains why this entry — the sixth in his thematically-connected series of zombie films — was so poorly received and seems to be almost universally regarded as the weakest instalment.

As is so often the case, I disagree. But we’ll come to that.

A defining feature of Romero’s zombie series is that there are, as he argues, no sequels. The zombie-infested world of the films develops, but no characters return — each film is standalone; you could argue each concerns a different zombie apocalypse, if you really wanted. Survival bucks that trend by being the first direct sequel. If you’ve seen Diary, you’ll remember the (brief) scene where the military turn up and rob our heroes. Bastards. Well, that little gang of military types are back — and now they’re the heroes. Survival even takes the time to flashback to Diary, noting the release of the film-within-a-film led to the military gang’s leader, Sarge (Alan van Sprang), being recognised. It’s not a plot/character thread Romero chooses to develop further — there’s no about-turn in his values, or a desire to hide from said recognition — which is a shame, actually, because the plot supports such a move.

The story proper begins on the island of Plum, somewhere off the coast of America, which has been populated for centuries by two opposed Irish clans, the O’Flynns and the Muldoons. In the days following the outbreak, the O’Flynns set about killing the undead; the Muldoons, however, think they should be kept locked up, in case a cure is developed. This leads to the dominant Muldoons, led by Seamus (Richard Fitzpatrick) kicking some of the O’Flynns off the island, including patriarch Patrick (Kenneth Welsh). That’s how, months later, Patrick meets up with our military gang and lures them back to Plum, where things have changed…

The obvious problem here is one of heroes — who do we support? There’s the military guys, who we dislike from Diary; there’s Patrick O’Flynn, who we first meet when his posse murders a woman so they can get to her zombified children and dispatch them too; and there’s the Muldoons, who don’t factor in again for a while, but when they do… well, they’re not a nice bunch, really. And yet Romero doesn’t construct a whole film from unlikeable characters — well, some viewers would (and have) assert he does, but I tend to think he redeems the military somewhat. We meet up with them as they come across a gang of men in the woods, who have seemingly been hunting the undead for fun. In the latest twist on the zombie-killing format met with human cruelty, they’ve been beheading them and shoving those heads on sticks — and, as we know, unless the brain is destroyed the zombie ‘lives’. A confrontation leads to the nasty hunters being killed, and Sarge kindly ending the existence of the row of zombie heads. Doesn’t sound cheery, put like that, but the military are Doing The Right Thing.

It’s also here that they meet a character known only as Boy (Devon Bostick), who had been co-opted into the gang of hunters. Turns out he’s handy with a weapon himself, and resourceful and clever. What an intriguing mystery. But don’t get too caught up — Romero never again alludes to where such skills materialised from. In fact, he so doesn’t return to the Boy’s abilities that I wonder if we weren’t even really meant to notice. Which doesn’t make sense. Is he left over to be revisited in a third in this new zombie series? Romero doesn’t seem to be in any rush to produce one… but then, Survival was an almighty flop (it even went straight to DVD here), so I guess we’ll never know.

As discussed, Romero already turned this one out quickly, motivated more by a desirous studio than a flash of inspiration (the fact its production company is called “Blank of the Dead” is telling), and the sacrifice for such speed seems to come in the thematic department: while all of Romero’s previous zombie films have a clear (some would say too clear) socio-political underscore, you could watch Survival and not even imagine one was there. I almost did. Instead, its thesis is a relatively slight offering about the futility of long-standing feuds that no one can remember the start of, and how they ruin everyone’s lives. It’s a valid point, and, in a world where the likes of the Israel-Palestine conflict rumble on, an ever-pertinent one. It feels underdeveloped, though; like Romero didn’t have time to make it work properly, and so just threw some extra elements in there to give the plot some drive. How do the military unit, our de facto heroes, actually relate to anything?

You know, I had a whole thing to go into there, and then the obvious hit me: they represent foreign (usually American) military interference. They wade in and cause a ruckus. Which side are they on? The one they encountered first, not the one that objectively has the best argument — also a definition of US foreign policy, is it not. And I’m sure it’s no coincidence that the islanders are Irish; and not just Irish in the way so many Americans claim to be “Irish” or “Italian” or whatever just because 200 years ago they had some relatives who emigrated, but properly, thickly-accented Irish. Which, yes, is kinda odd on an island off the coast of America, but hey, why not.

Another thing Romero has almost always done is push his treatment of zombies forward. Diary was the black sheep in this regard — by going back to the start, the zombies regressed to shambling flesh-eaters; and, actually, they’re barely a part of that film, only turning up now and then to motivate an action sequence. Here, Romero is almost back on track: the zombies are a more major part of the movie, thanks to the Muldoons keeping so many of them alive, and Romero once again finds a new direction to push their development in. Some, I think, would find it preferable and more worthy of exploration than the ‘intelligent’ zombies of Day and Land. Indeed, even more so than the Boy, it’s a shame Romero hasn’t moved on to a seventh film to explore the potential of his closing-moments revelation here.

For those more concerned with zombie-killin’ action, Romero and his effects team continue to come up with new ways of ridding the world of the undead. There’s the return of flesh-ripping practical effects in an attempt to satiate the hardcore, but there’s still CGI, and inevitably they seem to have focussed on that instead. As I discussed in my Diary review, I have no problem with CG blood splatter or what have you, and it’s as palatable here as it was there. There’s also a welcome return for his brand of humour, which went somewhat AWOL in the last couple of films. Those who criticise the film for being too comedic have, in my view, become too obsessed with modern cinema’s uber-serious tone. Lighten up folks, it’s a horror/sci-fi/fantasy movie.

I’ve written an average of 1,531 words about each of Romero’s previous ‘Dead’ movies, and even then not discussed everything I feel is worth saying about them. I thought Survival would merit a lot less because, despite my above analysis, it does feel more lightweight than its predecessors. In the end, it’s in the same ballpark (1,516 to be precise, and I still haven’t said everything worth saying), because a) I don’t think being lightweight is wholly a bad thing, and b) there’s more to it than meets the eye. There are, unquestionably, better zombie movies written and directed by George A. Romero, but I think here he’s produced one of his most watchable; one that can be as entertaining as the others, is still at times as innovative, and does even support a deeper reading, if you’re prepared to look for it. The film not only shows us that the dead can survive, but that so should Romero’s reputation.

Part of Week of the Living Dead for Halloween 2013.

Diary of the Dead (2007)

Posted on November 1, 2013 by badblokebob

While making a horror movie in the woods, a group of friends hear news of the dead coming back to life. As they try to reach home, their aspiring documentary-maker director keeps his camera rolling, recording their encounters with the living dead…

After his first living dead movie, it took writer-director George A. Romero a full ten years to have a concept for a follow-up. Then it was seven years before he produced another, and then he skipped a decade entirely before he produced a fourth twenty years on. But it was only two years after that before he returned to the subgenre he’d spawned almost 40 years earlier.

The quick turnaround was thanks to Romero being inspired by the rise of ‘citizen journalism’ — that’s people who document events with mobile phone cameras and the like, telling their own alternative version of the news on blogs, YouTube, Twitter, and the rest. It gave him an idea for another of his zombie movies, which he rushed to make before anyone else could do it first. Too late, George: although he managed to get Diary of the Dead into festivals in 2007, its wider cinematic release came after Cloverfield, the high-profile big-budget version of Romero’s concept that’s rather kickstarted a whole found-footage subgenre. And anyway, both of them owe a clear debt to a film released eight years earlier, The Blair Witch Project.

I liked Cloverfield, and Blair Witch. I don’t object to found-footage as a genre when it’s done well. Diary of the Dead is… well, it’s a funny one. It marks Romero’s return to independent feature making, after producing Land of the Dead for a major studio, but he perhaps went a little too independent: with a clear low-budget ethic and a cast of unknown actors, criticism from some quarters that this is little better than a Syfy TV movie are not without basis. And the technological aspect is already beginning to feel dated after just six years (people use MySpace!), so goodness knows how it’ll look after even ten. Thing is, despite all that, Diary still has one ace up its sleeve: it’s written and directed by George A. Romero.

What does that mean, then? Well, it means clear social commentary, as usual. Some people say that’s not as subtle as it used to be — again, as usual. Romero’s targets this time are the news: how the mainstream media lies to us, and how we’ve turned to alternative sources. But he’s also aware of the limitations of those alternatives: the lack of real-world contact, interacting with each other through cameras, phones and computers; processing the world not by going to see it but by watching it in little boxes on a screen.

In taking on this world, Romero has produced a movie that fits right in amongst it. Diary feels like it was made by some just-out-of-film-school kid rather than a 67-year-old moviemaking veteran. Romero is clearly a stylistic chameleon (as I noted on Land of the Dead), but that’s the surface sheen: the digital HD visuals, the syndicated-TV-level ability of the cast, the cut-price CGI… It’s also, sadly, sometimes the writing: the dialogue isn’t all it could be, and the characters are sketchy and archetypal — though, in fairness, that’s not unheard of from a Romero supporting cast. But, as ever, Romero adds his own spin by attempting to engage with social themes; not only those I’ve mentioned, but several more: “do we deserve to survive this?” is the closing note — again, taking on one of Romero’s pet subjects, the violence of humanity, against ourselves and others. Earlier in the film the military turn up, very briefly, but they are the opposite of all they should be. It’s not just that Romero hasn’t changed his views in 30 years or more, it’s that the world hasn’t changed either.

That said, the thematic concerns feel less resonant than in Romero’s previous work. The found-footage has led him to frame this as a film-within-a-film — the first title card reads The Death of Death, followed by one noting it’s “a film by Jason Creed”, the aforementioned aspiring director — complete with montages of news footage and, at times, a voice over narration. This rather rams the point home at times, over-explaining features that previously Romero would have allowed us to spot for ourselves. In some respects you can’t blame him being more obvious in this day and age — it needs to be on the nose to get through to some people — but it’s less satisfying, the blunt information coming across as a statement rather than asking us for our own interpretation, which I feel can lead to a more insightful analysis.

This is coupled with arguably a greater focus on action and gore than ever before. The first three films limit the majority of their violence to a final-act brawl — think Night’s trip to the gas pump/zombie break-in, the bikers in Dawn, the zombie break-in (again) in Day, the zombie, er, break-in in Land — but here we’re given a smattering throughout, with no all-or-nothing finale. That’s not a bad thing, but it makes it feel more pervasive — even more so than Land, which was an action-adventure movie through and through. Is Romero playing to his crowd, here? The ones who have always looked to his films foremost for their zombie-killin’ special effects; the ones who think Zack Snyder’s Dawn remake is superior to most/all of Romero’s films? (Seriously, those people exist.)

Such folks, and even genuine Romero fans, seem to have two major problems with Diary (aside from arguments about the acting, the storyline, or even the entire concept). First, the gore: where Land added CGI to the traditional mix, Diary’s almost exclusively courtesy of computer wizardry. That’s the age we live in: computer effects are so commonplace that they’re now the cheap and easy thing to achieve, rather than men with buckets of red food colouring and entrails from the local butcher. For me, it’s a mixed bag. I don’t think this is the worst CGI I’ve ever seen (unlike some commentators), but I do think it lacks the distinctive Romero feel — there’s none of his trademark eating of intestines, for instance, or the tearing a human in half that’s become a key visual in every film since Dawn. Perhaps that’s because of the realism angle? No one would film that; they’d turn away. Of course, when zombies get shot/beaten/etc, that’s different; that we can watch.

In fact, Romero kind of has his cake and eats it. There’s CG gore aplenty, and new and inventive ways to kill the zombies, but he still criticises that “violence for the sake of it” attitude, particularly in the film’s closing moments. He also takes pot-shots at fast-moving zombies and the treatment of women in horror films, but those are deserved, especially as they generate a laugh here. Nonetheless, said inventiveness is somewhat entertaining. There’s a particular good bit with an Amish man (the film’s best character) and a scythe, and another with a kid and a bow & arrow. I guess gorehounds will never be satiated by CGI, instead always moaning it looks cheap, but here at least it’s fine — doubly so for a film of such low budget.

The other problem bemoaned by fans is that this is a reboot, of sorts. Romero’s previous zombie films feature no recurring characters and don’t sit properly within the same timeline, but they nonetheless feature an evolution of the zombie epidemic: it spreads from a one-night issue in Night to a dragging problem in Dawn, to an all-consuming one by Day, in which we see the zombies gaining in intelligence, to the point where they consciously form an invading force in Land. But Diary scraps all that, going back to the start of the epidemic. It doesn’t remake Night — in fact, it handles a few things notably differently (in Night the radio and TV report factual and helpful information; in Diary, they obscure the fact the outbreak is even happening) — but it does disregard the development Romero had taken the undead through.

This may, then, be the time to mention that Romero doesn’t consider his films to be sequels, because each one starts with a new set of characters and tells a self-contained story. He has a point: consider any of the first four films in isolation and you’ll realise you don’t need to have seen the preceding movie(s) to follow them, they just don’t take the traditional move of starting from the birth of the zombie problem. This is perhaps most evident in Land: the sci-fi-esque dystopian world, born of ours but notably different, is the setting for dozens of movies; we’re used to jumping into that without three films’ worth of exposition on how we got from here to there. So if you choose to consider each film as a standalone, self-contained entity, Diary going back to the start doesn’t seem quite so odd. It’s even necessary for the film’s theme: the premise requires it to be set in a present-day we recognise that’s then transformed by the zombie epidemic, rather than a sci-fi future set post-Land.

But, nonetheless, the epidemic did develop and evolve across Romero’s previous films, and that’s been lost here. Maybe there’s nowhere further to go with it? I’m not convinced of that. Perhaps Romero will have another idea and get to tell that story someday in the future, leaving Diary (and Survival) as an aside to his once-a-decade continuing series.

I disagree with those who think Diary is without interest or merit — clearly, as I’ve gone on this long about it. Romero brings a class to the concept that a lesser director wouldn’t, but it’s also a concept a lesser director could have realised much of in a similar fashion. It’s unquestionably the weakest of Romero’s first five ‘Dead’ films, then, but that still leaves it notably better than many, many other contributions to the genre.

Part of Week of the Living Dead for Halloween 2013.

Toy Story of Terror! (2013)

Posted on October 31, 2013 by badblokebob

2013 #93a
Angus MacLean | 21 mins | streaming (HD) | 16:9 | USA / English

The fourth Toy Story short, Toy Story of Terror! is a made-for-TV Halloween special that nonetheless has all the quality we’ve come to expect from a Pixar short. (I say “nonetheless” — I’ve written at length before about my thoughts on the all-but-disappeared divide between TV and film.)

When new-owner Bonnie’s ~~mum’s~~ mom’s car gets a flat, the toys and their owner are forced to spend the night at a roadside motel — the setting for many a horror movie, of course. And indeed there’s something suspicious at the motel; something that stalks toys, and snatches them… or worse…

Of Terror winds up a mash-up of horror-trope-spoofery and usual kids’ tale Toy Story antics, pretty much divided half-and-half around the midpoint. Which is no bad thing when it’s all so much fun. The horror movie stuff early on is a suitable tribute to the genre, packed with atmosphere. Of course it’s kid-friendly and so not really scary, but there are plenty of nice references and a solid mystery — in A Horror Movie it could be any kind of monster stalking the toys, but in this (semi-)real world, what’s it going to turn out to be? The stand out, perhaps, is English-accented thesp Mr Pricklepants, who trots around describing all the horror movie tropes. It’s a top-notch performance from Timothy Dalton.

The second half is more familiar Toy Story stomping ground — indeed, if there’s one bum note, it’s that the villain and his ‘plot’ are almost a rehash of Toy Story 2. But hey, if you’re going to copy, copy from the best; plus it’s not exactly the same, just resonant; and it’s only a small part of a successful whole, so it can pass. As this is primarily a kids’ film, there’s a Moral Message to be learned. I don’t really object to that — it fits with the story and tone, and it also serves as character development for Jessie — it just always strikes me, when watching stuff aimed at kids now that I’m a grown up*, how blatant these Messages are when you know they’ll have been inserted.

Much to my delight, it moves at a rate of knots. This could easily have been a longer piece, evolving at a steady rate; perhaps not a full feature (not without a few more plot beats at least), but certainly longer. Instead, it goes like the clappers, and I appreciate that. Plus, even though it’s only a 20-minute TV special, Pixar have clearly poured all their usual love and attention into the animation. Highlights include a black-and-white horror movie at the start (oh, imagine a full-length Pixar film looking like that!), and an underground section lit by the spooky green glow of Buzz’s glow-in-the-dark parts, which is both amusing and effectively eerie. And best of all, the whole thing is genuinely funny. There’s a particularly great gag with a Pez dispenser near the end.

Apparently Toy Story of Terror! spent two years in development. While that might seem excessive for a mere under-half-hour animation, the time and effort have paid off handsomely: the result is a thoroughly entertaining short — and one that actually embraces its seasonal theme, rather than forcing it in as an afterthought. Terrific.

Toy Story of Terror! is currently exclusive to Sky Movies in the UK, showing regularly on their channels and available on demand, including via NOW TV.

* technically ^

Land of the Dead: Director’s Cut (2005)

Posted on October 31, 2013 by badblokebob

While the first three ‘Dead’ films (or “the original trilogy”, to put it in Star Wars-y terms) now all look and feel like ‘classic movies’ (read: “old movies”), the next three bring things bang up to date: Land of the Dead was only released eight years ago.

Set in a world where the zombie epidemic has been running for years, perhaps decades — but with a title card that lets us know this is “Today” — Land of the Dead focuses on a city of haves and have-nots: a massive tower block, Fiddler’s Green, houses those both rich enough to buy a place there and deemed suitable for entry by its board of directors; in the wreckage of a city around them, regular folk live in slums. Raiding parties go out to surrounding small towns to raid what’s left of canned goods and so forth, where the zombies live a dumb show of their former lives — until one of them realises that they could be something more…

A quick glance at the internet suggests Land is significantly less well regarded than Romero’s original trilogy, which I think is distinctly unfair. The reasons for this seem to be twofold: viewers coming to it as a modern zombie movie, apparently unaware of Romero’s legacy — or so I presume, from their complaints about sentient/sympathetic zombies; and fans of old who see it as too slick and modern, a sell-out to mainstream action/horror films. I don’t really agree with either.

Firstly, the zombies. They’re a development of the ideas we saw emerging through Bub in Day of the Dead. The ‘head zombie’ here is a hulking ex-mechanic-type, who witnesses a raid on his town where the humans needlessly ‘kill’ some of his fellow undead on their way out of town. He is outraged. This is a zombie not only sporting intelligence, but also emotion; a desire to protect, as he attempts to save some of his comrades’ ‘lives’; and then a desire for revenge, when he sees the glittering lights of the city in the distance. Lead he does, corralling the other zombies into a slow march towards their target.

Romero has said that he read Richard Matheson’s novel I Am Legend, the inspiration for Night of the Living Dead, as an analogy for revolution. Matheson’s vampire/zombie creatures are the successful revolutionaries, the hero the last remnant of someone resisting the change. Romero didn’t see him as the hero, but the old guard who ought to give in. I don’t know how fully Night adopts that theme (the revolution seems to have been crushed — though, in a ’60s America where protest seemed to have little impact, I can well believe that was Romero’s point), but it’s certainly present in Land: the oppressed zombie silent-majority rising up against their self-decreed masters.

Each of Romero’s films has had a significant, sympathetic black male hero. That wasn’t a deliberate choice in Night, but it seems to be a theme continued throughout the series: Night’s Ben is the intelligent, resourceful, thoughtful leader; Dawn’s Peter is the most level-headed and well-prepared of that film’s men; Day’s John wisely stays out of the soldier-vs-scientist bickering, and it’s ultimately his plan of escape to a deserted island that they follow. Land has an heroic black character too — but he’s the leader of the zombies. As if you were in any doubt that we were meant to be on their side, even if just a little bit.

In the world of the humans, meanwhile, we also have an oppressed majority: the slum dwellers. Attempts at revolution there are soundly ignored, with the rich quietly taking the opposition out as ‘trash’ whenever able (which, I guess, is whenever they want). The people are controlled by drink, drugs, gambling, prostitution, and any other cheap entertainment you can imagine, all secretly managed from on-high to keep the general populace docile. And those entertainments are getting increasingly extreme, too: the zombie-on-zombie cage fights previously used cat or dog meat as motivation, but now they throw in Asia Argento. Again, Romero is holding a mirror up to present-day America, where the illusion of a ‘free society’ with easy social mobility is supported by the mega-rich in order to keep the poor down. It takes the zombie invasion for anything to change, which may be a case of Romero “following the story” rather than reflecting a political reality — who’s going to invade the US?

This is where I diverge from the aforementioned “old fans”, because Land is clearly bursting with Romero’s usual socio-political analogies and commentary. There’s the rich/poor divide (which, in real life, is actually shockingly extreme in the US) and the abundance of entertainment, as previously discussed; there’s certainly some post-9/11 thoughts (quoth Dennis Hopper, “we do not negotiate with terrorists”), and perhaps post-Katrina too; perhaps the zombies represent foreign nationals, either breaking in (for a nation founded on immigration, the US are certainly very cautious about it, especially when it comes to Mexicans) or kicking off a revolution (a ‘prediction’ of the Arab Spring?); and there are freedom fighters within too, who are incarcerated and apparently tortured without trial (Guantanamo); or, if you want to see Romero as a genuine prophet, they could be foreshadowing Occupy Wall Street and its ilk. But hey, it’s also got some action scenes, right? Those commenters that do acknowledge these facets claim Romero’s just not as subtle as he used to be, which is also poppycock: Dawn’s criticism of consumerism is as blatant as anything listed here — perhaps even more so, because you can just watch Land as a near-future science-fiction humans-vs-humans-vs-zombies action flick, whereas I think Dawn’s ‘subtext’ is unmissable.

Indeed, while lots of reviews and articles merrily analyse these films’ commentary on their respective eras’ socio-political concerns, what’s less often (or “never”, as far as I’ve seen) noticed is how they reflect the filmmaking styles of their times as well. Night is a stark black-and-white chiller, contemporaneous with the likes of Psycho; Dawn is an auteur-driven socially-conscious ’70s drama mixed with a genre movie, just like the film school brats were getting into at the same time; Day is every inch the ’80s cult movie, ready to be quoted and replayed endlessly on VHS for its slick special effects; and now, Land is a ’00s action blockbuster. Romero’s directorial hand is evident at times, but in terms of the pace, action:story ratio, cinematography, CGI splatter, and more, this is easily interchangeable with any other mid-budget mid-’00s genre movie. Apart from that socio-political commentary, that is.

Talking of CG splatter, oh my does that not go down well with some. I like physical effects as much as the next well-adjusted film fan born before the millennium, but surely CGI is just a tool available now, isn’t it? So there’s some CG blood, or some CG-aided zombies — it’s not as if they were using real blood or real zombies before. It allows Romero and his special effects wizards to pull off some things that they haven’t done before, some of which are very effective. And there’s still tonnes of practical effects too! If you want to see people getting ripped apart by zombies with their guts spilling out everywhere, in traditional Romero style, then… seriously, what’s wrong with you people?! But, erm, you should be satiated.

I will unbegrudgingly concede that Land of the Dead is not the pinnacle of Romero’s work, but I do believe it plays in the same league as its predecessors. Just because he’s now working in a ’00s action-adventure framework doesn’t mean Romero has stopped making points about society — how it is, and how it should be — in a way other genre filmmakers aren’t even bright enough to dream of, never mind actually imbue in their work. If more Hollywood cinema could deliver on thematic intent as well as over-expensive effects and explosions, we’d have a far richer mainstream cinema. Hey, how about someone lets Romero direct a superhero movie?

Part of Week of the Living Dead for Halloween 2013.

Day of the Dead (1985)

Posted on October 30, 2013 by badblokebob

Threequels, eh — who’d make ’em? It used to be received wisdom that sequels were poor, with only a few exceptions. That’s less often the case these days — indeed, it’s almost de rigueur that the first film in a potential franchise will exist to establish the world in preparation for a superior sequel. But how many great third films are there? There are some good ones, it’s true, but are there any that are the best film in their series? If there are, they’re certainly outweighed by the number that couldn’t live up to the quality of the two preceding parts.

Day of the Dead has its fans (including director George Romero, who has said this is his favourite of the ‘Dead’ films); but the impression I’ve always gotten is that, while not regarded as a bad film, it’s seen as the weakest of Romero’s original ‘Trilogy of the Dead’. Whereas Night was a taught, socially-conscious horror-thriller, and Dawn an epic, socially-conscious character drama, Day feels like it’s the kind of quotable gore-filled cult-friendly B-movie the series is often perceived as (and, in fairness, is taken as by some of its less brain-engaged fans). Of course, that’s not true: this is a George Romero movie — the subtext is definitely still there.

Here, Romero sets his sights firmly on the military mindset. Criticism of weapons fetishism isn’t something new to the series — indeed, there’s an element of it in both the preceding films — but here he specifically takes on the military, a recurrent theme in 1980s cinema: this is the era of films like Rambo: First Blood Part II, Rambo III, Predator, and other less well-remembered films in which a one-man-army (importantly, a one man American army) takes on some less-friendly locals on the other side of the globe and shows them who’s boss. As ever, Romero doesn’t tackle this head on. His methodology, it would seem, is to create a situation, put in elements (be they political, social, etc), and let it play out. The resultant work is driven by the story of the situation, the criticisms or analysis becoming subtle and secondary.

The same is true in Day’s criticism of science, especially vivisection. According to Romero (in the booklet that accompanies Arrow’s Blu-ray), he didn’t set out specifically to tackle that controversial area of scientific research. Instead, he developed a “next logical step” for what scientists would do to the undead. Of course, it’s horrific and criticism is implicit. Thankfully, Romero isn’t painting all science as bad: the lead character, our de facto hero, is also a scientist; but she’s not really interested in the vile work of her colleague, dubbed ‘Frankenstein’ by the soldiers.

It has been said that Day is the darkest and most nihilistic of all Romero’s films, lacking the humour that played such a significant role in Dawn. It’s not as if Night was rolling in laughs, but in the end the humans won (or seemed to), and there are no villains — characters conflict, but their motives are all understandable. Whoever you might side with, you can understand the other person’s perspective. The same is true of Dawn, even with those bikers. But Day has a clear-cut villain: the base’s new commander, Captain Rhodes, a power-mad borderline-caricature of small man syndrome. This is where that B-movie thing comes in: he’s eminently quotable, but he’s also thoroughly unlikeable. His men all fall into the same bracket, whatever effort the actors may have intended to humanise them.

The real development here, in terms of the zombie mythology, is that the creatures are beginning to learn and develop. Central to this is Bub, who doesn’t seem to crave flesh, imitates shaving, listens to music, and almost manages to talk. There’s a parallel with how monkeys have been kept captive for similar experimentation, and again of an unthinking military mindset: Bub salutes the Captain, an instinctive reaction the same as his shaving. That it leads to an ironic repetition at the film’s climax is perhaps satire, or perhaps just another cool moment. You have to hand it to Romero and co, though: it’s a great villain’s death scene.

Indeed, the special effects throughout are the finest the series has to offer. After the hit-and-miss work on Dead, the zombie make-up here is right on, especially Bub. The flesh-ripping finale is the most gruesome yet, but so over-the-top as to become comical — which, again, has been Romero’s intention all along. The location work looks great, too. Filming in a real underground storage facility lends a quality that you’d never get from studio sets, with huge empty rooms, the small band of soldiers and scientists huddled around the edges or needlessly sprawled across spaces.

For me, the main problem with Day is it feels like a bit of a rehash, thematically. Humans are the biggest enemy? That’s been touched on in both previous films. It’s at its most central here, with the base’s military contingent and scientific team clashing from the off, but it’s also at its most blatant. The characters are B-movie archetypes through-and-through, from the Villain to the Henchman, the Mad Scientist to the Wise Ethnic Guy, rather than the more rounded characters that even Night offered. Similarly, Romero punishes or rewards them in a straightforward fashion: everyone dies except for the likeable handful, who get to escape to tropical paradise — away from the epidemic forever!

There’s probably an in-depth piece to be written on the evolving gender politics of the ‘Dead’ films, which I’m sure must reflect changes in society. Here, we have an unequivocal female lead, a scientist and voice of reason amongst the madness of both sides. She stands up for herself against the men, who belittle her as much as possible. Actress Lori Cardille has commented that she wanted to develop the woman’s role in these films, even beyond that of Fran in Dawn, who she saw as little more involved than the useless females of Night. Of course, as I noted last time, the role of Fran is considerably more involved and competent than that of Barbra or Judy, so it’s interesting that Cardille felt there was work still to be done. Not that she’s necessarily wrong; and the way the men treat her character in Day suggests that someone having a similar reflection on this film, nearly 30 years on, would find room for continued improvement.

I find it hard to disagree with the consensus on Day’s status within Romero’s initial trilogy. It’s not that there aren’t good things in there, both thematically and on more basic entertainment levels, but it feels like less of a cohesive whole than either of the previous films. Although it develops the mythology (as well as the more intelligent zombies, this is the first time we have no sign of what’s going on in the outside world: power is out in most of the US so there’s no long-range radio or TV for further reports; these people are isolated — again, adding to that nihilistic world view mentioned earlier), there’s a slight sense of it going in circles, thematically. Maybe that’s a tad harsh, especially as I wouldn’t disagree with Romero’s critical stance evidenced here. I don’t even object to it being a bleak film, with little sense of hope for the future of humanity; in fact, there’s a lot to commend in that.

Put plainly, Day is certainly a good film, rewarding in several different ways. It just isn’t as good as the predecessors it inevitably butts up against.

Part of Week of the Living Dead for Halloween 2013.

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Category Archives: Star Ratings

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