A Zombie Film Manifesto

It has come to my attention that I have yet to screen a zombie film in the historic Single Malt Cinema Theater. I’d say I was surprised considering my affection for the subgenre, but after the always dangerous further consideration, I think I have an actual, albeit subconscious, explanation.

As you know, hip and with-it SMC readers, there has been a cultural zombie infestation in recent years. From the authentic purveyors of the undead enjoying the cyclical renaissance to the typical rapists of the zeitgeist looking to cash in on whatever fad will have them, zombies have become big business. But, alas, the Great Pop Paradox: the more popular something gets, the more people hate it. This isn’t a psychology site (Single Malt Couch?), but I would diagnose it as an innate human pathology, most likely dating back to a particularly tumultuous relationship with a saber-toothed tiger. Really, not a psychologist.

This is a movie site, so let’s focus on a far more easily understood correlation: the more you crap (zombie movies), the more crap you’ll have (crappy zombie movies). Yes, you will find that diamond you swallowed (or somehow ended up in you), but more often than not, your experience won’t be that goal-specific (making a good zombie movie--stay with me). Usually, you are just going through the motions...though every now and again you will make the mistake of stopping at McDonald’s for breakfast. However, the one thing you will discover with zombie movies that you won’t find in other niches, such as vampires, is that not every zombie movie is a zombie movie.

Generally speaking, there are three categories of zombie films. First, there are the traditional, folklore-based Voodoo stories where the zombification process is the result of either black magic or a real drug such as tetrodotoxin. These films have a stand-alone tradition, sharing only the use of the word “zombie” rather than its latter day connotation, and should be classified accordingly. This was the zombie of the Classic Horror Age, exemplified by the 1932 Bela Lugosi film, White Zombie, though director Wes Craven did modernize the legend in 1988 with his decidedly un-quaint, The Serpent and the Rainbow.

Conveniently, there is a chronological line of demarcation for the transition to the zombies we all know and love today. Of course, that was 1968 and the release of George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead. Whether you’re a fan or not, there is no denying the game-changing impact of this film. Think about it: Romero essentially invented a brand new monster archetype, an incredible anthropological achievement considering how, historically, people turned every creature, shadow, and inanimate object they could into a bogeyman.

The Romero zombie is the true modern zombie with a basic taxonomic checklist:
1. A normal human dies (not as obvious as you might think considering some recent misinterpretations);

2. The dead human rises again (the how of reanimation can differ, but it is important to remember that the corpse does not technically come back to life as we know it, hence, living dead);

3. The risen dead, or zombie, is thus a mindless body with a reactivated brain, basic motor skills, and an inexplicable imperative to eat live human flesh, or preferably brains;

4. The zombie can only be stopped by having its brain destroyed, thus ceasing all biological functions. This is done via the graphically cathartic “head shot.”

That's it. Everything else is story. But what of that everything else? What then makes a good zombie film? Above all else, a good zombie film has to be a good film. Easier said than done as we know and the strictest adherence to the above formula is neutralized by shoddy characters and narrative. In fact, it will do nothing but anger the fan base by wasting their time and manipulating their good faith. That aside, there are more specific criteria by which we can judge.

The type of zombie is important, or rather, how the filmmakers have tweaked some originality into the Romero prototype. This leads into maybe the most important factor: setting. Ideally, a zombie film should be claustrophobic. The classic undead are slow, shambling creatures, but relentless. They'll keep coming until you stop them or they stop you. An isolated farmhouse, a shopping mall, a neighborhood bar--any type of backs against the wall, last stand scenario. Even if there is a worldwide crisis, that larger picture needs to be presented as a microcosm. A third consideration is gore. Let's face it, we are not strolling through a Victorian garden of subtlety here. The more over the top the blood and guts, the better. Even if it's an art house version, that art house has to be a renovated abattoir. And circling back to the quality of story requirement, even though these movies are meant to be enjoyed as vicarious escapist fantasies, there needs to be a certain degree of scientific plausibility present. That's not to say accuracy because no one is rationally arguing the reality of most premises. But you have to at least think they're possible. Viewers aren't interested in a dissertation on bioengineering, but they also don't want their intelligence eviscerated.

As for the third category of zombie film, I must confess to gaming my own system a bit. The third category is everything else that is confused for a zombie film. The most flagrant example is a movie that actually tops several uninformed lists of best zombie movies--Danny Boyle's 2002 28 Days Later. It's a terrific film, at least the first half,  by one of my favorite directors, but it is very obviously about a virus that affects and transforms living people, which easily makes it ineligible from further consideration. It is more genetically similar to 1995's Outbreak than to the Romero bloodline, despite its outward appearance to the contrary. Another popular and lazily misguided choice for a favored zombie status is Sam Raimi's Evil Dead trilogy, which, if you have seen any of the three films, is unmistakably zombie free. To be clear, evil spirits, demons, devils, skeletons, and ghouls are not zombies, in the same way that werewolves are not vampires even though they both have pointy fangs.

Start getting it right, or at least stop getting it so wrong.