I like horror comedies...zombie comedies, from "King of the Zombies" to "Return of the Living Dead". In more recent years, the likes of "Fido", "Shaun of the Dead" and "Zombieland" have enthralled me, due to their kooky yet identifiable characters and set-ups. On the other hand, I thought "Zombie Strippers!" missed the mark, getting too damn high and mighty in its world-affairs views: no laughs in any of that.
Now comes writer/director Jim "Dead Man" Jarmusch's "The Dead Don't Die" (not to be confused with the Curtis Harrington flick featuring Reggie Nadler). It's a flesh-eating zombie fable with particular focus on a trio of deadpan, Ohio police officers who must combat the infestation.
Portraying these Buster Keaton variants are Bill "Zombieland" Murray as droopy Chief Cliff Robertson (surely a homage), Adam "Force Awakens" Driver as reliable Officer Ronnie Robertson and Chloe "American Psycho" Sevigny as queasy Officer Mindy Morrison.
Steve Buscemi costars as Farmer Frank Miller (yet another homage or perhaps, just an unjust, conservative jab?); Danny Glover as downhome Hank Thompson; Tom Waits as narrative Hermit Bob; Rosie Perez as Chilly Billy-ish Posie Juarez; Caleb Landry Jones as monster-merchant Bobby Wiggins; Selena Gomez as comely hipster Zoe; and Tilda Swinton as Zelda Winston, an enigmatic undertaker with a straight-outta-"Doctor Strange" bent. (To prance among these stand-out supporters, we're supplied enough cameos to make "The Dead Don't Die" the proverbial, flesh-feasting "Around the World in 80 Days"; I suppose my fave come-and-goer is Iggy Pop, though I'm partial to Pop...Waits, too, for that matter.) The ensemble performs with pouts, frowns and sardonic wit galore. When a statement-making moment strikes, it stomps on Middle America: case in point, Miller's crass, reinterpreted cap.
And that's the film's blundering misstep. "The Dead Don't Die" is a big, environmental, blame game, signaling out those who aren't considered erudite (rural folks, you know) for the world's "problems". The film's frackin' (pun intended) failure, therefore, falls on Jarmusch, whose propaganda spoils what could have been an appeal-to-all "Night of the Living Dead" meets "Fargo" meets "Plan 9" meets "Twin Peaks".
Some will say that Jarmusch's intent references George A. Romero and Larry Cohen, but those filmmakers planted care and consideration into their advocacy, covering both sides of issues. "The Dead Don't Die'"s agenda is an example of gory reversed discrimination: a bloody, biased, one-trick pony that invades the space of its quirky characters.
Though a number of folks will hail the approach as progressive, that sorta slanting has never been my cup of tea, whether jammed in horror, fantasy or comedy. In other words, highbrow ignorance is distasteful, no matter how dryly it's gnawed.
Steve Ditko's avenging, psychedelic sorcerer, Dr. Stephen Strange has finally entered the big-budget Marvel universe. Directed by Scott Derrickson, who also co-penned the script with C. Robert Cargill, the film forms a mystical trip of mounting discovery, matched by intersecting deception.
In tune with the original source, the surgeon and sorcerer-to-be (Benedict Cumberbatch) damages his hands in an auto accident. In that his injuries are seemingly irreparable, he seeks to mend them through unorthodox means, traveling immense distances to locate a guru-supreme, the Ancient One (Tilda Swinton).
The starry-eyed mystic helps Strange transform in ways he could never have imagined, not so much to regain the use of his precious fingers, but to achieve full-scale, metaphysical elevation. He soon learns that he can levitate through dimensional portals via spellcasting techniques and with his sharpened senses, benefit humankind in ways that far exceed the virtues of even the most gifted surgeon.
His honorable intent meets indirect competition, however, through his teacher's former disciple, Kaecilius (Mads Mikkelsen), who for all intents and purposes acts as the film's adversary, though he's really not evil in the classical sense. Instead, he holds an ambitious, differing opinion on how to make matters eternally better for humankind: his methods more extreme than what our hero would care to implement. This makes Kaecilius more in tune with DC's Bane and Ra's al Ghul than a standard Marvel opponent.
Naturally, we're granted the obligatory, final-reel clash of the titans, but there's a great deal of tense fun leading to that point. Just as Boris Karloff and Vincent Price battled it out (albeit comically) in "The Raven '63", so do Strange and Kaecilius. Their magical bouts crease the fabric of reality (and various time sectors linked to it), adding an unnerving splendor to the proceedings.
The film also offers a number of interesting, supporting characters, such as the mystical duo of Wong (Benedict Wong) and Karl Mordo (Chiewetel Ejiofor); Strange's medical rival, Dr. Nicodemus West (Michael Stuhlbarg); the self-healing and inspirational Jonathan Pangborn (Benjamin Bratt); Kaecilius' faithful soldier, Lucian (Scott Adkins); and love interest, Dr. Christine Palmer (Rachel McAdams, who like Cumberbatch, has visited Conan Doyle cinematic territory). Each member does a fine job in broadening the doctor's personality and destiny, and thankfully when it comes to the relationship between our hero and Palmer, the romance remains underdeveloped.
This allows the duel between the two leads to define the film, but simultaneously makes its events different than what we typically find in a Marvel movie, where the division between (or among) battling gods is blunt and clear-cut. The ambiguity of good and bad in "Strange", therefore, may prove a plus or minus depending on one's vantage. It's certainly not Ditko, though the film's mind-bending ambiance holds (for the most part) true to the creator's vision.
With that said, as a basic, fantasy adventure, "Strange" succeeds, though more with a modern-day sensibility and structure (as opposed to a '60s, LSD-induced backdrop that old-timers might prefer). Additionally, it projects specks of the mythology's macabre atmosphere, but never dips deeply into the comic's Lovecraftian depths or the sophisticated menace of the ill-fated, CBS '78 pilot.
To the film's advantage, Cumberbatch is ideally cast as Strange, lending a faithful arrogance to the character, but in comparison to the 2007 animated feature, "Dr. Strange: the Sorcerer Supreme", his highbrow stance is quickly replaced by a stumbling through lessons, which minimizes his heroic loftiness. This deprives us from watching Strange swing realistically from emotional extremes: a missed opportunity, which would have enriched the film. (Strange's arduous training also smacks a little too much of Lamont Cranton's in Russell Mulcahy's '94 "The Shadow", which handled matters faster and with superior impact.)
As for Strange's opposition, Mikkelsen once more proves himself an actor of impeccable range. His characterization contains the best of both good and bad (as does Ejiofor's Mordo, if one pays attention to his backstory). However, on the debatable downside, Kaecilius never becomes a full-fledged adversary to root against, his suave, exotic presence remaining as headstrong and determined as the title character's: a plot device that might be too clever for its own good, particularly when the audience is meant to choose one mystic over the other. It's only Kaecilius' vicious displays that tip the scales...perhaps.
Unlike other Marvel/Avenger movies, "Strange" (if only due to its kaleidoscopic backdrops and interludes) acts primarily as a two-hour reverie. However, even though it skids from a linear track, its content surpasses its magical-based competition with little effort. It doesn't try to be sweet and whimsical, nor does it cater to those timid millennials who'll likely dash to the upcoming Potter prequel. It simply unfolds in the weirdest and most unapologetic of ways: the twisting and turning of images and passages mere icing on a large and tasty cake, which promises more mesmerizing adventures to come.
