Unfairly labeled the crippled stepchild of Romero’s zombie trilogy, Day of the Dead may be the most flawed in the series, but it’s also the most ambitious. Like Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings, Romero’s trilogy works best when viewed as one grand work, and Day of the Dead is a crucial cog in what Romero’s trying to do with the whole thing. Beginning with Night of the Living Dead, Romero’s spinning a story about humanity as well as the undead. He’s not just aiming for scares and gore, but social commentary as well. Though I’ve labeled this review as being just for Day, it really encompasses all three films, their goals, and how they play into each other. As Romero begins each picture presuming that you’ve already seen the previous one(s), you’d do well to watch them in order (and during a short time span).
Night of the Living Dead takes place in an abandoned house in the woods, where several stragglers attempt to ward off a slew of zombies. Their origin is unknown, as is the precise results of their sluggish attacks. Like Ridley Scott’s Alien, Night of the Living Dead relies mostly on atmosphere, slow pacing, and selective use of music to terrify. Conversely, Dawn of the Dead is much closer to James Cameron’s Aliens in approach: it’s a nonstop sugar rush. Set in an undead-infested shopping mall, it follows a small group that’s aiming to both destroy and escape the zombies. Much of Dawn is a fascinating look at human nature; frequently, the men put themselves at risk unnecessarily by sprinting past the creatures, laughing giddily while doing so. Why? The desire for challenge is embedded deeply in our soul, the circumstances immaterial. That darting past flesh-eating zombies might not be the wisest move in the world isn’t the point; the need to win in some form overcomes rationality quite frequently. Since mass genocide is too ambitious a task, short bursts of success must do.
Though Night of the Living Dead hints at what’s happening in the world with brief news broadcasts, it never touches on the zombies’ origin in any meaty fashion. Dawn of the Dead similarly evades the question, focusing instead on the here and now, a small scope. This doesn’t negatively reflect on Romero’s ambition, though. His intentions become much clearer when you analyze the three pictures in succession, and that’s where Day of the Dead comes in. On a small island, a team of scientists and military personnel are trapped in a facility. Zombies have overrun the town, fields, and caves, and as the newspaper to the right hints at, apparently the world (note the headline, “THE DEAD WALK!”) The windy streets reek of loneliness and despair, as do the howls of the undead prowling for flesh. It’s a chilling opening, but it once again raises the question of how this epidemic began, and just how pervasive it it. Well…
…Romero never specifically addresses just how vast this infestation has spread. Is it worldwide? Nationwide? We don’t find out, and I believe that’s because it’s inconsequential. Romero made these films expecting us to accept the world as it’s presented. The primary question he’s asking is, “What would you do if presented by this type of adversity?” It’s a fascinating topic, one that becomes more and more interesting as different scenarios are presented throughout the three films. From the creaky house in Night to the mall in Dawn to the solid brick facility in Day, the settings beg questions and invoke different responses in the characters. Despite the 17 years between Night and Day, it appears that Romero had a clear vision of natural progression. As the zombies evolve, so does the story. It’s fantastic direction.
Romero does begin to explore how the zombies function, as well as touch on the idea that they can be domesticated. Because of this, Day of the Dead is definitely the talkiest of the trilogy, which I suspect is part of why its reputation is so much lower than its predecessors. Bub the zombie, seen right, is tamed by loony Dr. Logan, to the point that he can identify many appliances and items that he knew in life. This angle isn’t fully successful—Romero doesn’t go far enough with it, so it’s unclear precisely how Logan was able to domesticate a creature that appears to now run almost exclusively on motor instincts (this is also discussed in Day). It’s an intriguing concept, but we sometimes feel shortchanged by the follow-up. Considering that Dawn was 30 minutes longer than Day, perhaps Romero should have tacked on some time and exposition to Day of the Dead to better handle all the questions it raises.
Ironically, Day of the Dead is the goriest of the three in addition to being the most dialogue driven. Huge chunks of flesh and intestines are ripped out on multiple occasions. In Kill Bill form, the violence in Day (as well as Dawn) is pretty cartoonish. Romero’s approach here is twofold Firstly, he reminds us that this isn’t real, nor is it supposed to be. Rather, the zombies and bloodiness are merely a backdrop for Romero’s thematic portrayals. Secondly, the extreme carnage raises more questions on the undead transformation; are they given some kind of inane strength after death? Under lesser direction, scenes like the Captain being ripped apart would come across as little more than rubbish, but Romero so deftly plunges us into his world that every ideal and potential solution becomes food for thought.
Along with all its intrigue and wild theorizing, Day of the Dead is never boring, and has many scenes that match Dawn of the Dead in the energy & suspense department. Despite its numerous strengths, Day of the Dead does have several problems. For instance, the leads in Night and Dawn are black. In those pictures, there’s an effortless commanding presence in their characters that doesn’t feel like Romero threw them in to satisfy the politically correct crowd. The Jamaican pilot in Day, however, does feel like the “token black guy,” hurting the odd authenticity that permeates throughout much of the franchise. Many of the other folks (the angry Military captain, the mad scientist, etc) are somewhat clichéd, relying on the wordy script to carry them. There’s also an ending that nearly ruins the entire picture, until the final shot insures us that, “no, he didn’t really do THAT!” Thank GOD (you’ll see). All in all, though, Day of the Dead represents a smart and worthy finale to a superb trilogy. If rarely *scary* in the accepted sense, it’s eerily thought-provoking and never dull. What more can you ask from a genre that normally relies on cheap gags and shock value?
67/100
Alas, Quentin Tarantino’s gargantuan ego has tainted a masterpiece. A top-notch editing job could’ve made Kill Bill one coherent gem, a perfect balance of action, odes, bloodspill, and chit-chat. Unfortunately, QT couldn’t bear to lose even a second of his precious revenge tale, and the finished product suffers from it. It’s the rare picture that deserves to be broken up, with The Lord of the Rings being the primary example. But for every LoTR, there are seven Matrix franchises, which collapsed under the weight of excessive expectations, shoddy screenwriting, and an overreliance on special effects. To place Kill Bill in the same spectrum as The Matrix Reloaded is of course absurd, but it’s important to realize just how great Kill Bill could have been with the proper treatment and someone to smack QT upside his head.
Before this carping goes too far, let me calm the nerves of the fawning KB fans: this won’t be a negative review. For the most part, Kill Bill succeeds brilliantly…which simply makes its flaws more infuriating. But, on to the film(s) themselves now. Volume 1 is a pure sugar-rush, an adrenaline-packed needle that injects wild fun into every conceivable vein. From the opening fight between The Bride (Uma Thurman) and Copperhead (Vivica A. Fox), we’re sucked into a vacuum of energy. That mood never really lets up, culminating in the snowy duel between The Bride and O-Ren Ishii (Lucy Liu). Throughout, Tarantino tosses in clever nods to the Kung-Fu flicks of the 70′s (among other things) while maintaining his trademark Pulp Fiction-esque vibe. There are decapitations, one-liners, and plenty of loose ends that leave us longing for Volume 2. At this point, the decision to cut Kill Bill into two parts doesn’t seem like a problem at all. We’re left counting down the days ’til Volume 2 (presumably just what Tarantino intended), and thirst to watch Volume 1 repeatedly (again, what QT desired). Volume 2 is pushed back a bit, probably to drive up the public’s desire even more.
Volume 2 gets off to a terrific start. Within the first 15 minutes, we have brilliant homages to Noir & Godard (Uma driving the car in black and white while speaking to the camera) and Westerns (the wedding chapel, with the tumbleweeds, spacious shots of isolation, and zooms on walking feet to set up confrontations). Though beautifully executed, the marriage rehearsal is the first sign that Volume 2 will be a different texture than Volume 1. Firstly, Bill makes his official debut, and it’s a talky one. He and The Bride converse for about five minutes about life, the past, the future. The massacre then occurs (if this spoils anything for anyone, they shouldn’t be reading this review), and we move on to the crux of Volume 2: Uma’s quest to finish off the rest of the Deadly Viper Assasination Squad – Elle Driver (Daryl Hannah), Budd (Michael Madsen), and of course the elusive Bill himself. Important notice: I’m glad that Tarantino didn’t try to make Volume 2 a clone of Volume 1. Inevitably, the candy rush wouldn’t have been nearly as impressive a second time through. And QT does filter plenty of enthusiasm and kickass moments throughout. Highlights include the Bride’s dispatching of Elle, Budd’s demise (I’m somewhat mixed on this, but there’s no denying the coolness of the method and writing. The problem arises elsewhere, which I won’t ruin), and the Bride’s intense Kung-Fu training on the mountaintops, which is even snazzier (from a stylistic standpoint) than the mass genocide near the end of Volume 1. Unfortunately, the stretching of the story begins to rear its head as a major issue. A five-minute sequence in the bar where Budd now works adds nothing to the narrative or character arc. Nor does a meeting between the Bride and one of Bill’s many father figures. The primary offender, though, is the anti-climactic penultimate meeting between The Bride and Bill. This is what we’ve been waiting for! This will make everything else seem trivial and dull! And what do we get instead? A ten-minute discussion that sums up any plotholes (including The Bride’s real name, among other things), and then a one-minute ‘fight’ where Uma makes the title come true. One minute! Let’s not even discuss that anyone can guess just how it’ll happen about halfway through…it’s cool enough that it could’ve worked anyway with more flash. But Tarantino takes the passive route (something I never thought I’d say), and the film ends on a slightly sentimental (though it’s apparent QT is satirizing this to an extent, with the swelling score) and extremely deflating note.
Technically, Volume 2 is the equal of Volume 1. Tarantino shows the influences of Godard, Wong Kar-wai, and many others in his editing techniques, use of colors, montages, and camera placement. There’s a splendid split-screen moment between Elle and the Bride, and QT always seem to know just where to position the camera to capture drama at its peak. Unfortunately, for all of QT’s knowledge about how to edit, he has no concept of how much to edit. Kill Bill should have been one 165 minute opera, a delectable love poem to cinema that explores the femme fatale, the drive and changes that motherhood inspires, and pulpy entertainment in one delicious swoop. Instead, Tarantino’s bloated cockiness drag down a film that’s outstanding in so many areas (I haven’t even touched on Thurman’s dynamite work, or Carradine’s quietly chilling portrayal of the engimatic Bill). What could’ve been extraordinary simply winds up as very good…and it’s hard to not be disappointed by that, even when the final product winds up extremely entertaining. I certainly give Volume 2 a strong recommendation (and will buy it on DVD for sure), and advise my readers not to overreact to the numerous quibbles I have with the finished product. The strong points certainly outweigh them, but it’s difficult to shrug off a let-down.
Stephen Chow’s drunken, madcap Kung Fu Hustle is like a smorgasbord of high-pitched artistry and homages, ranging from Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill, to the frenetic Looney Tunes cartoons, to the Westerns of the 60’s (including Kurosawa’s Yojimbo). Even spoofs of The Matrix (“the one”) and Spider-man (“with great power comes great responsibility”) are tossed into the fray. Make no mistake about it, though: Kung Fu Hustle is far from a montage of ripped-off lines and sequences. The free-wheeling, all-over-the-place atmosphere is pure Chow, something we got a whiff of in his entertaining, but inconsistent, Shaolin Soccer of 2001. Chow’s directorial style is simultaneously relaxed and confident: the storyline is secondary to the trippy occurrences, but despite its over-the-top visual flair, Kung Fu Hustle maintains a consistent aura—crucial in that it keeps the wild duels & encounters from seeming silly. Instead, they’re just plain exuberant, even when they’re not laugh-out-loud funny (probably the biggest difference between Kung Fu Hustle and Shaolin Soccer). Each character has a sharp, distinct identity—the chain-smoking, lung-powered landlady; the slipper-wearing, Pai Mei-esque Beast; the gay, multiple-bracelet-adorned Tailor; the cowardly Sing (Chow), with his clumsy ineptitude (the knife-throwing scene is among the funniest I’ve seen in a while). Even the supporting players are richly developed, like the barber who runs around with his ass-crack half exposed. With such attention to detail, it’s a wonder Chow is able to make such an insane storyline work (without it seeming like a dopey mix of genres, that is), but he pulls it off with gusto.
Chow wrote, directed, produced, and starred in Kung Fu Hustle, but he never seems overmatched or pretentious—his goofy screen presence (also present in Shaolin Soccer) is hypnotically charming, while his toned, muscular frame (and martial arts gifts) don’t make a real appearance until the final ten minutes. By avoiding hogging the spotlight, Chow allows for everyone to get into the act, and the film is all the better for it—with everyone carving out an individual, frenzied niche, we really have no idea what the hell’s coming next. Using wide, distant shots (much like Leone’s Westerns), Chow captures dusty atmospheres, as well as wild battles (there’s a stretch near the end that’s much like The Bride disposing of the Crazy 88’s in Kill Bill). It’s all pizzazz, really, but the energetic spunk is so contagious, it just doesn’t matter…and it’s clearly the work of someone who understands the art of cinema, but prefers using that art to entertain in adrenaline rush fashion, rather than provoke thought.
Kung Fu Hustle isn’t without its minor problems: those who crave thematic depth in their cinema should look elsewhere (despite the occasional jab at Yakuza absurdity), and there are a few gratuitous moments (a group urination scene in particular is more repulsive than amusing). Also, the ‘love’ subplot, while tongue-in-cheek enough to avoid treacle, doesn’t fit in as well as it could have (though the finale, the ‘heir,’ is a hoot). These are quibbles, though, as Kung Fu Hustle is going to entertain 99% of its audiences, be they fans of nonstop butt-kicking or not. Chow’s clearly having a blast onscreen, yet he doesn’t slack off in his dual (really, quadruple) role: the direction is never lax, as opposed to the one-dimensional Ong-Bak. All-in-all, Kung Fu Hustle is likely to land on many viewers’—and critics’—“most flat-out, unadulterated fun” lists of the year. It’s a definite early contender for mine.