The great George A. Romero may have started the zombie genre with a bang but he may end it with a whimper. Night of the Living Dead had social meaning, so it is said, but that contribution to culture doesn’t survive in Survival of the Dead. Unfortunately, without any other qualities, beyond new blood splattering head shots to satisfy the real aficionados, it falls dead. A movie of endless bloody battle scenes without plot would be preferable to this disjointed, witless story. Romero may avoid his sacrilege of ‘running zombies’ alright, but he needs to show more than just prove he’s the reigning lord and protector of that law.
Remember the interesting idea that zombies were beginning to think in Land of the Dead? Well, that has gone no where. Instead we are on an island off the coast of Delaware in the middle of a dispute between two Irish families, some of whom dress and talk like cowboys! The social comment is about tribalism and individualism. Oh, is that all.
We assume in the beginning that the world is dying from a zombie outbreak, somewhere we guess where Diary of the Dead ended; a small group of deserters from the National Guard led by Nicotine Crocket (Alan Van Sprang) are fighting for survival, and killing, or so it seems. They kill off a bunch of good ol’ boys for abusing the undead and then they run off with the money from an armoured truck. I guess the enemy of my enemy is not my friend.
The Muldoons and O’Flynns are fighting too, dressed and acting like it’s the 19th century, divided on Plum Island by the river Pussyfoot. The family feud between the two Irish families, in the middle of this deadhead outbreak, continues because Patrick O’Flynn (Kenneth Welsh) wants to kill off all the zombies and Stern Muldoon (Richard Fitzpatrick) would rather not in case a cure is found. Such is tradition as his ancestors are honoured and even photographed deceased for the living room walls.
It is ironic that Muldoon wants to kill the O’Flynns because they are not his kin yet save all the zombies, and O’Flynn, who seems the nicer fellow, wants to kill all the zombies, and Muldoons. The point is the lads disagree with each other. Well, don’t we all. Even if the movie were slick and well-crafted I don’t know how anyone could work with this disorderly, simplistic attempt to find metaphor.
Muldoon kicks O’Flynn off the island but he finds his way back with the progressive army team by his invitation on the internet. Coming to the island, the Muldoons have all the deadheads locked up, which sets up the final outbreak scene. If all of this sounds funny it does not come across so, with lines that feel like they’re being read off cards you will cease to hear them. There are words spoken that do not need to be, there is no scene focus, and at times I don’t even know who is speaking because they are off camera or standing waiting their turn to speak or enter the picture. The best actors in the world couldn’t pull off their parts.
There are no fantastic broad shots, so its littleness may have worked with a hand-held camera first person movie as with Diary of the Dead but the same laissez faire doesn’t work with a film crew shuffling through takes from one Ontario farm field to another. I am so tempted to hope that this will be funny in future, a deliberate attempt to make a cult film. Or that it’s some twisted joke on us; Romero’s own parody of himself and how he makes a living with the genre he created. Could Romero’s perhaps unwitting final statement be that you might be a zombie if you enjoy zombies this much? That’s so deep.
