Cemetery Man

Cemetery Man

Plot:

A pissy jerk kills zombies, then people, then becomes a complete misogynist, then he's in a snowglobe. If someone tells you this film is deep and there's a lot more going on here than that, make them show their work.

Comments:

It dawns on me that I tend to have patience for films both elitists and the hoi polloi detest. (Did the 'Amityville' remake truly deserve the type of outrage usually reserved for German war atrocities?) I really hope I don't get a reputation as the contrarian horror critic. If there is one thing lower than measuring and aping the median consensus to avoid confrontation, it is waiting for that consensus to become apparent, then automatically taking the opposite side. (I swear I'll bitch-slap the next culturally degenerated little twit who tells me that 'Casablanca' is "overrated".) It's the reviewing style of a sheltered, pretentious16 year old who smokes clove cigarettes and listens to nothing save The White Stripes.

That being said, ethics forbid me from lying to my readers, or even parsing my words. 'Cemetery Man' is well respected in indie film circles, as most confused, off-putting eurotrash goo is. Amongst my contemporaries this film is usually lauded as brilliant, artful, and witty, and in parts I find it as torturous as being locked in an elevator between Jack Thompson and Missy Eliot.

I can't say I hate this movie, but ask me again in 20 minutes and you may get a different answer. Why would I dare blaspheme the magnificent 'Dellamorte Dellemore'? Let's simply start with the fact the there is not one honestly likable character in it. To be fair, the cast does boast one old widow who doesn't act like other human life is a personal affront to her, but she never develops beyond a silly stereotype. Likewise Gnaghi the simpleminded oaf is endearing in a sweetly pathetic kind of way, then again, he's basically just a source of physical comedy.
Our protagonist is another matter all together; Rupert Everett's Francesco Dellamorte, grave digger, amateur philosopher, and total prat. Let's all get past the dismissive excuses of whether I recognize the film as a farce. Yes, Francesco is a ridiculous figure in himself; so feckin' what? In real life, assholes are just as solipsistic. I don't suffer them in my physical presence, why would I want to watch one vomit his meaningless self-pity at me for an insufferable amount of time?
Now I don't want to make it seem like I have, a general grudge again' uppity euros, just the fatuous narcissistic decadents whose affected world-weary cynicism has hardly been earned in young, aimless lives of pampering and onanistic self-obsession. What's that you say? I've just described all Europeans under 30, most of France, and about a million American trust fund green party hemp heads? Yeah, I only hate all of those people. (Also cretins who take their dogs to salons, but that's irrelevant.) In this matter, the film exceeds in realism, as Everett's portrayal of a useless pompous ass is flawless.
Dellamorte's self proclaimed raison d'etre is obtaining love, as if it were a commodity like bulk rate cheese you merit by simply asking for it. Apparently the idea of simply displaying human concern to those closest to him without immediate expectation of recompense never crosses his knobby little bonce.
(If this still isn't getting through to some of you, here's my philosophical monologue. Life is short; try not being a total douche. )
It's so very easy to say that we are not meant to like Francesco, but we're somehow still supposed to appreciate his company for nigh unto two hours. Is this really entertainment for some? To be trapped inside the world of a dull, bitter little twat whose view of the universe never seems to extend beyond his own crotch? What's that about self-parody? Self-immolation would have been more appropriate. A biting sense of irony you say? Give this script a high colonic, replies I.

Despite the 'Cemetery Man' himself, the film might amuse me if it wasn't so stuffed full of self-awareness. Sure it's pretty original, but if I may steal a line from a fellow fictional New Englander, "it insists upon itself". For a comedic work, the film has a gratingly un-amusing and altogether uncanny talent for following every one of the worst instincts inherent in Euro art. If given the choice at every turn it will pick imagery over meaning, petulance over warmth, style over substance.
Likewise the film also tries for sick humor of a sort, (The scene where must a reanimated troop of Boy Scouts is gorily dispatched is a highpoint, which ought to tell you something.) but having neither the honesty nor heart of works such as 'Dead Alive', it cannot hope to match their mirth.
It has pretension of art, and the shocks and bosoms of cult horror, but little of the smarts of either to back it up.

Now even I'll admit that 'Cemetery Man' is not an awful film at all. There are isolated bits that work damn well. Dellamorte's conversation with the Reaper himself is ethereally creepy. The setting is breathtaking, if somewhat underutilized. But the film is what it is, and the sad fact that the script flies apart during the third act like the papier-mâché heads so joyfully abused throughout, more or less cements my negative reaction.
There's a difference between a film that refuses to spoon feed its meaning to the audience and one that is simply meaningless. It's one thing to be incoherent. ('The Beyond' is one of my top 10 favorite films, despite the fact that it only approached lucidity once for me, and I was drunk.) It's another think to have absolutely nothing to say and yet still chatter on interminably.

Well, maybe that's going too far. Perhaps the film is trying to impart something, but it's nothing I can make out or fully accept. Look, I'm not saying that anyone who made this film is talentless; far from it by any stretch of the imagination. I always prefer to be talked up to, even if it's in an odd cacophony.
Scores of people love this film. Maybe you're one of them. Quite likely after you see it, you will be.
And maybe you can tell me just what the hell I'm missing.

A 10 for effort, cut in half for want of heart
5.0