Comedy

The Walking Deceased (2015)

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walkingdeceasedIndie zomcom The Walking Deceased has a couple of things working in its favor: Writer and star Tim Ogletree (Supernatural Activity) nails the neurotic delivery of Jesse Eisenberg, while A Haunted House resident Dave Sheridan, here spoofing the sheriff protagonist of TV’s The Walking Dead, channels Andrew Lincoln’s drawl-call of “Carrrrrlllll!” so well, it makes up for the forced visual intimacy of the man’s taint.

But two rights doth not a movie make. As a comedy, Deceased comes perilously close to being just that. Only every 20th joke making some kind of landing keeps the toe tag from being knotted. As a spoof movie, it’s awfully grim in tone, which sticks out all the more since the gags fail to fly at a rat-a-tat-tat pace. In their day, Airplane! pilots Zucker/Abrahams/Zucker would know how to wring laughs from an apocalypse without the result feeling dreary itself. So where’s the levity? An extended sequence of the cast cutting loose with bong hits doesn’t cut it — not here, not ever.

walkingdeceased1As if you didn’t surmise already, first-time director Scott Dow’s The Walking Deceased is a parody of zombie films, by way of television’s enormously popular The Walking Dead as the primary template. Dow and Ogletree have added characters who allow them to crib from Zombieland and Warm Bodies (both essentially comedies at rotting-face value), but strangely lets the mammoth target World War Z off the hook, despite that blockbuster outgrossing both those source titles combined … and then tens of millions beyond that. Smidgens of Dawn of the Dead and Shaun of the Dead make their way into a scene or two without positive impact.

In The Walking Deceased, the event of mass extinction already has occurred, and the main story kicks off 29 days later. Get it? Do or don’t, that throwaway wink is indicative of the low level at which the flick strives to operate, and is too content to stay. —Rod Lott

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Horror

Day of the Mummy (2014)

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daymummyWith Day of the Mummy, it’s tough to tell who had it easier: William McNamara (Chasers), since his role is largely offscreen and spoken? Or Danny Glover (Saw), who literally sits behind a desk for the entirety? No matter your answer, the loser is clear: We.

That’s because the movie is as wretched as the Day is long. And damn, does this ever feel like director Johnny Tabor (Eaters) took the time of the title to heart. His horror flick is so lazy that its opening credits present a pair of (no-)names in a typeface that has defaulted from the fancy one everyone else gets. If they didn’t bother, why should we?

daymummy1McNamara’s Dr. Wells seeks a big ol’ diamond from an Egyptian king’s tomb, rumored to be cursed and of course it is. To get his hands on the goods, he joins a team of archaeologists — who look like they’d be on such an adventure only if MTV crafted a reality show around such a concept — and together, they penetrate the tomb. I hate to spoil it, but with just a few minutes left in the movie, our asshole archaeologists find a CGI mummy.

Because Wells’ eyeglasses have a built-in camera, we see what he sees. Given that much of Day of the Mummy takes place within narrow cave paths in the dark, the POV gives viewers the feel of watching — but not playing — a first-person shooter. In the corner of the screen, Glover’s character sits and watches and guides and comments and occasionally gets flustered. (For proof of the latter, check out the eight-second clip below from the final scene, which I shot with my iPhone. Doesn’t it seem like he’s having a stroke while pitching a fit?)

If you’ve seen the trailer, you’ve seen the movie; I wish I had not progressed past that first step. —Rod Lott

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Action

Vertical Limit (2000)

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verticallimitChris O’Donnell’s acting abilities have been in question ever since he transitioned from supporting parts to leading man, and his hot streak effectively ended — as did many — with 1995’s Batman & Robin. Five years later, the snowy mountain actioner Vertical Limit failed to reverse his career descent, but at least he emerged rosier than co-star Bill Paxton (Edge of Tomorrow), whose monosyllabic Texan routine already had worn thinner than his hair.

O’Donnell stars as a National Geographic photographer — no, really! — who must put away his fear of heights when his champion-climbing sister (Robin Tunney, Supernova) falls into an icy crevice with Paxton’s greasy, rich (redundant) scumbag villain. You really won’t believe the O’Donnell/Tunney pairing as brother-and-sister, because they totally play it like they’re firmly within week two of a couple’s “we’ve just begun fucking” phase.

verticallimit1Complete with the requisite spooky, local Native American hermit (played by a wackily miscast Scott Glenn of The Silence of the Lambs), members of the rescue team have the bright idea to strap nitroglycerin to their backs for the trek up the peak. Making up for such nonsense is GoldenEye girl Izabella Scorupco as the team’s all-important blonde hottie. I might have misspelled her name, but when you take a look at this frostbitten fox, vowels and consonants will be the furthest from your mind.

As directed by Martin Campbell (Green Lantern), the limited Limit does boast a couple of good, tense action sequences. However, like many other studio-spit-shined blockbusters, it grows excessive and doesn’t know when to quit. —Rod Lott

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Horror

Crocodile (2000)

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crocodileDirected by the fallen-from-grace Tobe Hooper, who did the killer-croc thing before in 1997’s Eaten Alive, Crocodile kicks temporary-escapist ass for one simple reason: It does not skimp on the bloody croc attacks. So many animal-attack films seem to miss this point entirely, resulting in utter disappointment, but Hooper gives nearly 10 violent on-screen deaths! Yes!

The rote story puts several drunken frat types and their so-hos on a houseboat during spring break. The lake they visit should have a sign posted reading, “DO NOT FUCK WITH CROCODILE EGGS,” because once these immature bozos do, it’s feedin’ time! And that’s what Hooper does right. What he does wrong is put a poodle named Princess in jeopardy at least three times, yet ultimately lets her live. (I’m also curious why he let the croc vomit up the annoying punk kid at the end, but that’s beside the point.)

crocodile1Members of the cast are unremarkable and unmemorable — they’re just croc food, after all — with the possible exception of Caitlin Martin (When Billie Beat Bobby), playing the kindhearted Girl Next Door who charms the screen with her crooked-eye-and-bit-lip routine. She did not return for 2002’s expected sequel, Crocodile 2: Death Swamp, but neither did Hooper. —Rod Lott

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Reading Material

We Don’t Need Roads: The Making of the Back to the Future Trilogy

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wedontneedroadsI can think of a few people who may hate reading Caseen Gaines’ history of the Back to the Future trilogy. These people are Eric Stoltz (fired from the lead role of Marty McFly after filming began), Crispin Glover (more or less blackballed from the sequels), Jeffrey Weissman (Glover’s ill-treated replacement) and Cheryl Wheeler (a stuntwoman who nearly died during a questionably safe stunt in Part II).

Everyone else, go for it! While inessential in terms of claiming a cineaste’s shelf space, We Don’t Need Roads is a must-own for anyone with a deep fondness for the classic time-travel comedy, especially if you were among those audiences wowed upon its release in the summer of 1985. That’s the power of love.

Author of similar treatments on A Christmas Story and TV’s Pee-wee’s Playhouse, Gaines grants an insider’s view into the creation, production, impact and enduring legacy of the films, thanks to personal interviews with many key players. While Michael J. Fox, Thomas F. Wilson, Steven Spielberg and the aforementioned Glover are not among the dozens of participants, those who are can’t be considered lesser-ran slouches, including Christopher Lloyd, Lea Thompson, Huey Lewis and the two “Bobs”: producer Gale and director Zemeckis, both of whom wrote the Oscar-nominated screenplay — plenty of credibility.

Naturally, the first film takes up more space (as it should) than the consecutively shot sequels: 1989’s darker follow-up and 1990’s lighthearted Western. Readers get plenty of dished-up dirt on all, however. While presented chronologically, Gaines’ narrative finds him spending a bulk of each chapter focused on particular (and sometimes peculiar) aspect: Stoltz’s dismissal, the pimped-out DeLorean, the music of the Enchantment Under the Sea high school dance. It’s a unique way of approaching a behind-the-scenes tale, but if you don’t want an overload of info on, say, hoverboard technology, remember that patience is a virtue, and just settle back and enjoy the ride. So nontaxing and entertaining is We Don’t Need Roads that the Plume paperback can be read in virtually no time at all — and that’s even without a flux capacitor. —Rod Lott

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