Editor’s Note: This was originally published for FANGORIA on June 23, 2005, and we’re proud to share it as part of The Gingold Files.
Zombie movies may come and zombie movies may go—and a lot of them have certainly come around lately—but Land of the Dead proves that nobody does them quite like George A. Romero. From the opening scenes, it’s clear that we’re back in the hands of the master, the man to whom practically every other filmmaker who has tackled the undead in the last three decades owes a debt. And that’s because his movies are never just about the ghouls; there’s always an undercurrent of social or political drama or satire, bestowing extra meaning that elevates his Dead films far above simple chronicles of walking corpses devouring the flesh of the living.
And so it is in Land of the Dead, which, as the title suggests, posits the zombies as a society all their own, one that has become the established order. Or, to adapt a tired-out phrase: It’s their world, and humans just live in it. In this case, an unnamed metropolis (filmed in Toronto) has been transformed into a walled last holdout for the living, within which the old order still reigns. The rich dwell in a brightly lit tower where the best of civilization is still available for their consumption, while the lower classes eke out a living on the streets, distracted by vices provided for them by that very wealthy upper class. Some of them are employed by the city’s overlord, Kaufman (Dennis Hopper), to run missions into nearby communities to pick up supplies, and the movie begins by dropping us into the middle of one such trip—which, of course, goes gruesomely wrong—and introducing us to two of Kaufman’s key underlings.
Both of them are anxious to move on from their current situation, but in different directions. Riley (Simon Baker), creator of the huge armored vehicle known as Dead Reckoning in which the team travels, aspires to head for Canada and a potentially more peaceful life. Cholo (John Leguizamo), on the other hand, wants to move up metaphorically; he’s been amassing money—through partially unscrupulous means—and aims to buy his way into Kaufman’s domain. He’s not the only one thus attracted, though; the ghouls in the surrounding area have started to notice the bright lights of Fiddler’s Green, the huge residential/retail complex where Kaufman and the moneyed folks live. Led by an undead former gas-station worker called Big Daddy (Eugene Clark), the zombies begin moving in on the city—and they’re learning how to use tools and weapons…
Romero thus sets up an allegory about the haves and the have-nots, with both humans and ghouls (referred to as “walkers” and “stenches” by various characters) among the latter. The writer/director plays it for both social commentary and satire, and in the latter category, his best creation is Kaufman, a ruthless and selfish despot given echoes of rulers past and present. The name “Fiddler’s Green” evokes Nero and the fall of Rome; Kaufman delivers one line that’s an explicit reference to the policies of George W. Bush. The tower where he lives could be seen as an upraised middle finger to the shambling hordes outside the city’s walls; too bad he doesn’t, or chooses not to, consider that the illuminated structure at night might eventually become a beacon attracting the flesheaters in his direction.
And let’s talk the zombies for a moment. Lest this review suggest that Land of the Dead is one big sociological treatise, it should be said that the film provides heaping helpings of the gruesome carnage that has also made Romero’s films memorable. The filmmaker may be tackling deep issues here, but he’s not above having loads of fun with the many ways in which the dead can dispatch the living and vice versa. There’s the requisite limb-ripping, head removal, gut-feasting and cranial bullet wounds, along with an assortment of original gags that are staged with gusto, for maximum impact. Heads off to Greg Nicotero, Howard Berger and the rest of the KNB EFX team for their endless series of utterly convincing prosthetic decompositions and bloody mayhem, very little of which appears to have fallen victim to MPAA strictures. And yet, Romero and Nicotero’s “Gore Unit” still recognize that it’s the small, identifiable stuff that really makes an audience squirm; look out for the shots involving belly piercings and fingernails.
Among all the undead action, the living characters make a strong impression too. Land may well contain the best ensemble performances in the Dead series, led by Baker, showing far more colors than he did in The Ring Two, and particularly the dynamic Leguizamo, seething in a palpable stew of ambition and rage. Hopper knows just how to pitch Kaufman so that he’s often amusing without tipping over into camp, and remains a legitimate threat. Asia Argento brings spark to the role of Slack, a prostitute rescued from a zombie gladiatorial pit by Riley who becomes his staunch ally, and it’s fun to see genre-veteran little person Phil Fondacaro as the lowlife who oversees those combat matches. Supporting honors, though, are taken by Robert Joy as another of Riley’s comrades, a sort of Lenny to his George, a slow-witted type whose disfigurement in a fire makes him resemble a zombie himself, yet who may be the most human character in the group. Clark also makes a strong impression as Big Daddy, allowing us to see the mind slowly coming to life again behind his dead eyes.
Land of the Dead was shot at a lower cost than the Dawn of the Dead remake, but it looks and feels bigger—a tribute not only to Romero’s facility with a budget, but also to his artistic collaborators. Beyond the KNB boys, the writer/director’s vision is ably supported by the moody cinematography by Miroslaw Baszak, the percussive, propulsive score by Reinhold Heil and Johnny Klimek and especially Arv Greywal’s remarkably lived-in production design. Michael Doherty’s editing also deserves special notice; despite all the aesthetic underpinnings, this is the most plot-driven of all the Dead films, and it moves like the wind, arriving at the climactic action practically before you know it. Some might find the movie’s closing scenes a tad underwhelming, as Romero chooses to end on a contemplative note, rather than with a big finish or a shocking twist. Yet that’s simply reflective of his approach to zombie cinema in general; no matter how many ghouls and how much mayhem he splatters across the screen, it’s humanity in all its forms that has always concerned him the most. Welcome back, George.
