"Land of the Dead" Life (and Death) Marches On

The odd paradox about all of George Romero's "Dead" films is that they actually are much more about the "living" characters than the dead ones. From the bleak, isolated house in "Night of the Living Dead" to the dead-infested shopping mall in "Dawn of the Dead" to the military bunker of "Day of the Dead", all these films keyed into human concerns and conflicts amidst the apocalyptic rise of the dead. I suppose that's the reason they are so popular, and will always remain a cut above most other zombie films; they are about something other than blood and guts. There's a subtext to the gore and a philosophical bent to the characters, setting and dialogue that even the most gonzo of gore fans has to recognize as original and important.

In the "Night", Romero included toyed with racial themes and the overlying question of how best to approach society's problems; i.e. the "hide in the basement theory" vs. the "stand and fight" theory. In "Dawn" he examined the phenomenon of modern purposelessness, exemplified by the spectacle of zombies shuffling aimlessly through the mall. Again the human characters are faced with the choice of staying in a situation that is bound to kill them eventually or risk a much swifter death by trying to escape to a safer area. In "Day", Romero dealt with the notion of man attempting to pervert every new natural (or unnatural) phenomenon into selfish (in this case, military) use. In "Land" Romero tries to say something about the conflict between the haves and the have nots in our society, with the dead (and many of the living) being shut out from the Trump-like plaza created by industrialist/gangster Kaufmann (Dennis Hopper). Kaufmann employs squads of soldiers/underlings to patrol the city and keep the dead away from his property. The film follows the exploits of the leaders of two of the squads, Riley and Cholo. Riley is a moral, world weary soul played by Simon Baker. He works begrudgingly for Hopper but dreams of a world where everyone is equal and even consorts with protesters against Kaufmann. Cholo (John Leguizamo) works so he can try to buy his way into Kaufmann's world, or at the very least, accumulate enough dirt on him so that he can blackmail his way in.

The other major plotline involves the revelation that the dead seem to be able to learn and communicate with each other. One of them in particular, a large black man, is seen using weapons and tools and more or less "leading" the other zombies in their actions. This is never explained; like most of the facts regarding the dead, we are largely left to interpret these new abilities. It's probably best that we don't get some kind of "zombie rules". Somehow it seems more real that this would be a phenomenon that would remain largely a mystery, though some basic guidelines would help the keep the writer's of the series honest, and make them conform to some kind of continuity.

With the dead phenomenon four films old, the zombies murderous attacks are taken for granted. The film tries to concentrate on the people who have to live in this world and how they react to it. We have Riley's more idealistic view that somewhere, somehow things have to be better vs. Cholo's view that the only real salvation is through accepting the awfulness of the world and exploiting what is left behind for your own physical comfort.

In many ways, "Land" is really more of a science fiction film than a horror film. There are certainly scares (and gore) galore, but the main thrust of the film deals with the notion of a futuristic world turned upside down by the zombie plague. It's ideas are more about survival and human interaction than trying to tap into the human subconscious and locate fear centers.
This is a welcome direction for me; there's no reason that genres can't be mixed, and while it's often a dicey proposal, it pays off here.

I enjoyed the acting by all the principles; Baker is really impressive as a man who still dreams but doesn't want to admit it, and Leguizamo is suprisingly good as the coldhearted Cholo, who's so bitter about his station in life that he's become as remorseless as those he professes to hate. Hopper is also surprisingly good; I have a tendency to sigh when I see him in a film because he seems to be determined to inherit Rod Steiger's mantle as the Most Scenery Chewing Actor in Hollywood. But here he is fairly restrained (and not overused) as , a man who is taking advantage of the world's horrible state by insulating himself from it's problems with his money and power. Asia Argento is impressive as a hooker/scientist that Riley saves from becoming zombie food; like Hopper's, her role isn't overplayed but she nails what she is given quite well. And Robert Joy as Riley's friend and right hand man Charlie is terrific. This could have easily been a cartoonish role but hits all the right notes as a man who seems to be dependent on Riley but understand that their relationship is much more complex than that. as the lead zombie is pretty frightening; for one thing, he's huge and for another he plays those moments of "learning" just right and unnerves us each time we see the light go on in his undead brain.

The gore scenes are relatively few here but when they come, particularly near the end, they are absolutely effective; there were several sequences I actually recoiled from. As always, it's hard to really hate the zombies as they are just "us" turned into cannibalistic corpses, through no fault of their own. But it IS easy to be afraid of them. They seem to shuffle a bit quicker in this film and are apparently learning some survival skills beyond reaching and biting.

If you're looking for constant action, you might be a bit disappointed. Writer/director Romero isn't afraid to slow things down and develop his characters and setting through dialogue. But these moments serve the greater whole by making us care about the characters and make their world believable. I like Romero's ear for dialogue and the way he draws out characters personalities through their interaction, with the dead always shuffling about in the background, waiting for their chance of course.

"Land" is a very successful entry in this series, positing a world of desolation and despair brightened only by the still flickering hope of some of the characters' essential decency and goodness. As the end credits rolled and the surviving characters went off to whatever destiny awaits them, I remember thinking that I wouldn't mind seeing these people and their world in a weekly television series. It's never going to happen of course, but it's a testament to the appeal of the story that they are interesting even beyond this specific tale.

As long as Romero keeps this film series interesting, I'll keep watching. Then again, if he holds to his present schedule, we won't see another entry for many years (it's been twenty since the last one!). Let's hope he creates another installment in much quicker fashion; as repulsive as it is on the surface, I like visiting this world and especially the people that populate it.

"The Amityville Horror"...What the Hell...?

Jay Anson's "The Amityville Horror" was one of the scariest books I have ever read. Maybe it was the fact that I was only fourteen years old at the time, or maybe it was the fact that it was all purportedly true. I imagine it was really a combination of the two.

Whatever the reason, there were images from that book that will forever be seared into my brain; the red glowing eyes peering into the upstairs window, the rocking chair moving back and forth of its own accord, the hooded figure at the top of the stairs at the book's climax. These scenes were so affective and so frightening I vividly remember needing the lights on when I went to sleep for a LONG time.

Suffice it to say, that after watching the remake of the the 1979 film (ITSELF an adaptation of the book!), I won't have any problems with sleeping. That came DURING the film.

I have ranted here before about the wisdom (or lack of it) of remaking films that were fine to begin with. While the 1979 James Brolin/Margot Kidder "Amityville" was hardly a classic, it was a very workable and occasionally scary film version of the Anson book. I liked both lead actors, and the various recreations of the book's frightening moments were quite well done, with an air of doom and evil and a determination to be faithful to the story as outlined by Anson.

That said, I suppose that a remake wasn't totally out of the question. I was hoping that perhaps this version might mine some heretofore unexplored thematic area of the book; more attention on the Lutz' marriage before they bought the house, perhaps, or a more thorough investigation of the origin's of the house's supposed evil.

Sadly, this version seemed content to delve more deeply into the gore that never seemed to pop up in the book, and was determined to alter key events and characters that really needed no such altering. George Lutz went almost immediately berserk the minute he entered the house in this version, far from the gradual disintegration he displayed in the book and previous film. Brolin really brought out some sympathy for this poor working class guy who was overwhelmed with a brand new family and a huge house with a terrible past that seemed bent on driving him nuts. The 2005 Lutz started pushing kids around and scowling horribly from the get go, after about five minutes of nicey nice time with the family. Kathy Lutz was played younger (though no more sexy, in my opinion) here and ended up being just a victim of the house, bounding from one intense moment from another, overloud music in tow.

I guess the most egregious error this film made for me was the totally arbitrary and puzzling alterations of the story. Besides the warped transformation of George, the whole morphing of the evil spirit/imaginary friend "Jodie" into the ghost of one of the children murdered in the house was ill considered and disappointing. Without wanting to post spoilers, I'll just say I also hated the way the dog Harry was treated here. When you already have a story that is so eerie and compelling on its face (whether or not one chooses to believe that story is really beside the point), why on Earth is it necessary or wise to alter it? It just seems like time after time when there was a choice between following the established story or "Hollywooding" it up, the filmmakers chose the latter course to the film's utter detriment. Likewise the rushed and muddled "explanation" of the house's presence; by the time they got around to this, there had been so much deviation from the story it wouldn't have mattered whether they got this element "right" or not.

Horror films work best when several different elements are operating. One, you have to feel for your characters, just as in any type of drama. If you don't care about the characters, what difference does it make if they are scared, or go psycho, or are murdered? Two, you have to present a malevolent presence that's truly scary on a very real, personal level; you have to "feel" the presence and understand it's evil. Here, what are we supposed to be scared of? Surely not "Jodie", who is just the ghost of a murdered girl. Not the "figure at the top of the stairs" that was so frightening in the book's climax, because it isn't even included here! I guess we could fear George, but his personality change is so quick and jarring it comes across as more annoying than scary. And...that's about it actually. Very little of the poltergeist activity from the book is included, nor are most of the odd incidents that plagued the family They concentrated so heavily on George they seem to have forgotten the myriad of grotesqueries and inexplicable occurrences the family endured. Third, the horror has to be, as much as possible, rooted in the real world. This film is, ostensibly, but once the Lutzes get to Amityville it seems as if they enter their own little private bubble with virtually no contact from the outside world. George never seems to work, Kathy doesn't seem to have friends or family, the kids never go to school. Their whole existence is reacting to crazy stuff, again, most of it George. And again, it isn't as if there wasn't a whole slew of great scenes already written for them in the book. They just chose, foolishly, to ignore them.

The old cliche is always that "the book was better". It's not always the case, of course, but the one saving grace of this unnecessary remake is that it has made me appreciate the Anson story more. I plan on re-reading it, and savoring its eerie tale of a family I could relate to and a house I would want no part of.

Animals Animals Animals

After my mom died, I started making daily visits to the cemetery. It was good for me in a couple of ways; it helped me continue to have a sense of connection with her (and still does) and it was good exercise as well, allowing me to release some physical tension.

On a lot of my visits, I would run into an older guy from my hometown, someone I have known casually for a long time. He's in his eighties and he just lost his wife a couple of years ago. Like me, he visits her grave often (every day I think) and usually it's around the time that I go over.

I noticed he brought his little dog on one occasion, a terrier of some kind. He let it loose and it ran around the cemetery a bit. We talked briefly, and he commented to me that the dog was "the only reason I don't stick my head in an oven". That comment kind of took me by surprise, but only for a second, as I instantly realized how what he said really reflected the power that a pet can have in our life.

There are lots of good reasons to own pets. Dogs are good protectors, cats are good mousers, and both are interesting animals to observe and interact with. But in the end, the strongest argument for owning them is simple, powerful companionship. No, they can't talk, they can't exchange ideas and thoughts about the world in general. But they can and do listen. They care about you, and your welfare. They can sit beside you and comfort you in your darker moments. I have always thought that animals (mine at least) know when you are feeling poorly, whether physically or emotionally. They seem to spend extra time with you, nuzzling you and lying next to (or sometimes on top of) you. They are very empathic creatures.

I think all of us, even pet lovers, tend to do them a disservice when we consider them to be very much unlike ourselves. In many ways, of course, they are; they don't live nearly as long, they have a more limited range of communication, they certainly LOOK a lot different, and they don't know the first thing about clothes. But if you really think about it, our similarities far outweigh our differences. We both need food, water and shelter. We both crave attention and affection. We both like to play, and to be outside and to exercise. We both get sick, feel moody, and don't like getting old. I look at my cats sometimes and I swear we both know exactly what the other is thinking. Maybe it's just because we've been together for so long, or maybe it's just wishful thinking on my part. But there's an undeniable connection there that goes far beyond the traditional master/pet paradigm.

I don't know how much of the universe is planned, and how much is random. A casual perusal of the daily news would seem to indicate that a depressingly high percentage of it is awfully, brutally, random. But I often wonder if that special bond between man and animals wasn't almost certainly planned. My friend at the cemetery has his life saved daily by the shared existence he has with his pet. That's an extreme, and admittedly poignant, example, but aren't we all in some way or another, enriched by our animals? Isn't it nice to come home after a terrible day at work, where you seem to be battered from left and right and taken almost completely for granted, and see the smiling face of your pet waiting for you? Isn't it great to feel his warmth snuggle next to you in bed while the harsh winter winds howl around your house? Isn't it nice to pet your animal and know that for that moment you are their entire world?

I sure think it is.

Can all those wonderful gifts just be random, things that just happened to work out well? Or isn't it just possible that animals are here to help us feel less alone, and loved unconditionally? Perhaps animals, in their absolute lack of pretense and guile, really help to connect us to what is real and lasting in our lives, reminding us of so many essential elements of life; friendship, loyalty, love, even our own mortality. Unlike the foggy, pseudo reality we all trudge through every day, animals live purely in the the "real"; they are like the spirit of nature, distilled into a pure, moving (often shaggy) form that can interact with us and inform us.

Whatever the truth is about animals, their power is unquestionable. How many people are there out there right now like my friend, being given daily purpose and motivation by their pets? How many lonely, isolated souls are being brightened and strengthened by a wagged tail, or a soft purr?

They are unlike us, and yet, they ARE us in so many important ways. That is both animals' essential paradox and possibly the key to their significance in our lives. They reflect back all that is human and yet they also reinforce our connection to our world and each other.

The next time your pet looks into your eyes and begs for food, or to be let out or asks to be paid attention to, take a moment to look back into those eyes and really think about what you are looking at and how truly wonderful it is.

No More Lazy Days

Yesterday I had a rare treat at work. I was able to actually listen to a radio, or more accurately, someone else's radio. There was an oldies station playing, and I got into it, because 1) I have always liked oldies and 2) I am getting to be one!

At one point in the morning, the song "Lazy Day" popped on. "Lazy day..just right for lovin' away..."...it took me a moment to remember who sang it (Spanky and Our Gang, I think it was 1968 but I can't be positive). I instantly thought how ancient the song seemed, not because of its vocals or arrangement or even the instruments used. No, the reason it seemed so hopelessly out of date was the sentiment it was expressing.

"Lazy Day"...do you suppose any teenagers (or anyone for that matter?) have any clue as to what that is? Does anyone just laze away a bright sunny Saturday with a walk in the park or a long luxurious nap in a hammock? Does anyone just lay on the back and watch the clouds float by, and try to discern what their shapes look like?

I doubt it.

"Kick the can" has been replaced by soccer games and band practice and summer camps and summer school and field trips and extra credit. A kid's life is so organized and regimented anymore that he has no time to develop a real sense of individuality. Most of them practically live in the family car, excuse me, recreational vehicle, and the notion of just having a free day to bum around and laugh and talk and daydream seems unthinkable.

And to be fair, it's not just kids that are bereft of "downtime". I remember a lot of weekends where my folks just enjoyed the simplicity of sitting in lawn chairs and chatting with neighbors while listening to a ball game, or taking a leisurely ride for an ice cream cone or cruising the backroads of our little town, talking about old times and catching up on who had bought what house. Now the weekends are alive with the angry buzz of leafblowers and lawn mowers, a constant chorus of yard maintenance. And you can forget those leisurely drives in the country; now we all have to drive fifty miles to buy a truckload of junk we don't need anyway. And every other weekend is a birthday, a wedding, an anniversary, or a Hallmark holiday to observe. Even our downtime has become stressful!

Someone once described the hyperactivity of our modern society as the "quickening of the American pulse" and that's as good a term as any, I suppose. You just don't seem to see anyone doing..nothing...anymore. On the surface, that sounds like a good thing. We all like to think that productivity and labor are positives and they are. But is activity always necessarily positive and is leisure always negative?

Hardly.

There is a time for work and a time for play in our society; both have their place and purpose. But the scales seem to have become unbalanced to a point where anyone who isn't constantly building or cleaning or organizing or studying is immediately thought of as "lazy". I have no objection to hard work; it's how we all got whatever we have today. And unless you are a Hilton or a Rockefeller or someone similar, none of us can really live without work.

But the breaks from work are important too. They allow us to recharage our mental and physical batteries, to get some perspective on our daily labor and to pursue other interests that can help inform and bring insight to our "regular" jobs. But even in our leisure, we are all hyperkinetic. If you're not hiking or biking or jogging or doing something intensely physical, the old skeptical eyebrows raise once again. You're not "doing" anything.

I submit that "doing nothing" can be constructive. It's during those unscheduled times of leisure where we explore our own creativity and inner selves that we come up with ideas that can benefit our daily lives and also that give us perspective and distance from our daily grind. Anything, even the most beloved job, can become tedious and rote if you never escape from it.

While I don't have anything against more strenuous forms of leisure, the "do nothing" method is also helpful in giving us the time and the silence to appreciate the sheer joy of just being alive. You aren't burdened by concentrating on any task or accomplishing any goal, you are just breathing in the experience of being alive.

Work, effort and labor are all very laudable activities. And certainly everyone is entitled to their own form of leisure. But I do mourn the loss of simplicity, of "dreamtime" in our lives. Someone a lot more intelligent that me once observed that the unexamined life is not worth living; I wonder, in light of our frenetic activity addiction, if all that effort has a real goal or is just an ends unto itself.

There is indeed a lot to do and there is indeed a lot we can accomplish in the modern world. Perhaps our increased opportunity and freedom has placed upon us such heightened expectations that we now feel we are failures if we aren't constantly accomplishing something. I just hope we don't forget that no matter how far we advance, no matter how many opportunities are presented to us, everything has its limits. Life has its limits.

And while we are alive, we might as well stop and just silently, reverently, appreciate it once in a while.