Originally Posted by Frankie Teardrop  ZOMBIE FLESH EATERS – Stuck in bed with a lousy cold, I turned to my pile of discs... it felt like the right time to get into ZFE, held by many to be a classic but a film that I consider to be a bit of a snoozefest. Yes, it's sacrament to some, but my memories are always of me twiddling my thumbs and waiting for someone to get poked in the eye. But something always draws me back in. Images, scenes. It has, near the start, one of my all time fave shots in the history of cinema, the one where the camera zooms in on some worms slithering across the keys of a piano whilst the soundtrack bursts into a throbbing synth pulse. Don't ask me why, but that has to be my most treasured Fulci moment. ZFE approaches a similar level of craziness at other points, too – the shark attack, the rise of the conquistadores. It may suffer from clunky pacing, but there's no doubting its atmosphere in places... images of the walking dead swaying through the windswept streets of Matul have a tendency to linger. As does Fulci's camera – that's what I like about him, he tends to get close to the violence and stays with it, even slows it down. In fact, he's always stepping out of narrative time and searching for something visual or a bit impressive to look at, whether this be the gradual disintegration of a zombie's fingers being crushed by a door, or an airport lounge. There are moments, such as the one when a bored-looking zombie stares sullenly at the floor as Fabio Frizzi's electronics spark up, which seem like the essence of dream, and you can almost sense a new world being born, or at least a new aesthetic.
DRACULA, PRISONER OF FRANKENSTEIN – It's kind of an homage to the old Universal classics of the thirties, a golden era of horror cinema when Frankenstein and Dracula pretty much ruled in their genteel way without having to resort to much blood or cleavage. Here, they've made a comeback in more sexed-up times (1972, to be exact), and who should be at the directorial reins? None other than Jess Franco, lord of delirious erotic overkill. Those expecting a load of throat biting and shagging will be a bit non-plussed, as this is kind of restrained for a Franco movie. It is, however, pretty f8cking weird. It's not entirely silent, but vast portions of it are without dialogue. And although it does in essence tell a story, it's much more about images – images of Howard Vernon climbing out of a coffin, images of a woman in a psychiatric clinic writhing around on the floor, images of some gypsies hanging out, images of a dude turning into a werewolf at the end just because he can. If shots of candles, bats, sinister looking windows and machines with flashing lights don't do it for you, look somewhere else. As a film, you just have to go with it – let it wash over you and go wherever it takes you. Don't fight it, or you'll lose it – big time. Especially, don't ask the question “why does this film seem to be about people going in and out of buildings and not saying anything whilst the wind blows constantly on the soundtrack?” Because there are no answers. Not as wham bam psychedelic as its cousin 'Erotic Rites of Frankenstein', but somehow madder despite being quieter.
FLESH EATER – Does this film reveal Bill Hinzman to be the hidden genius of NOTLD? Maybe not so much, but, in its frenzy of mid-eighties denim and excessive gore, it's paved a way to my heart for one. There are some late teens up in the woods, gathered there to drink beer and dance – they literally do that at one point, just break off from the story and have a bit of a shimmy to Rock FM. You wouldn't get that in a film these days. Anyway, maybe there's a black magic curse on the area or something, because somewhere along the way a walking corpse is disinterred – it's Bill himself, reprising his iconic role from NOTLD! I quite like that, no explanation given or anything, just THAT zombie – and he's back! Did they think the average viewer would get it? I'm not sure I do. Anyway, zombie contagion spreads throughout the region and pretty soon there's a mass panic yada yada. Except it all happens very quietly, in a case of budgetary concerns triumphing over narrative. I quite like what they do here, as the story just basically dissolves into a series of vignettes, mostly involving violent murder by zombies in local houses – beats rounding everyone up in a shopping mall if you don't have that kind of cash. It also gives the film a kind of suspended, unintended dream-like feel, one event following the next along the flimsiest safety rope of causality. The accidental atmosphere is compounded by the bleakish rural-city setting (if that makes sense), and the cheapo film stock, which gives it a feel harking back to more grindhouse times. A blatant, brutal cash-in, 'Flesh Eater' is great stuff and is really what trash cinema's all about. |