Rob Zombie

Rob Zombie is the most important, groundbreaking and visionary film maker working in the horror genre today. He is also the only one (to paraphrase an old Norman Mailer quote concerning William S. Burroughs) to be possessed by genius. Neil Marshall, Eli Roth, James Wan and Darren Lynn Bousman are all competent craftsmen (in varying degrees) and each have a film or two that is quite good, bordering on great. Zombie though, has birthed 4 of the most outrageous, divisive and challenging films of the last decade. I realize that the small cadre of fellow film enthusiasts who wander over to this screed will no doubt be shocked by what I am about to assert and that their estimation of my credibility will be irrevocably diminished. But this is something I feel strongly about and I refuse to hold my tongue on the subject any longer.

When House of 1,000 Corpses was released in April of 2003, I had essentially lost interest in cinema in general and genre film in particular. I went into the theater with meager expectations, having outgrown Zombie's music years prior and letting the man slip completely off my radar once he left White Zombie to form his solo project. In a word, I was devastated. I was completely unprepared for the anarchic mess blasted onto the screen like someones innards blown out their back by a shotgun. To paraphrase Coppola's egotistical assertion ( I love to paraphrase) that Apocalypse Now wasn't about Vietnam, it WAS Vietnam, House of 1,000 Corpses isn't a horror movie, it's EVERY HORROR MOVIE. It contains trace elements of everything from the Gothic angularity of Bride of Frankenstein and The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari to the raw, confrontational power of Last House on the Left and Cannibal Holocaust. Its cinematography is as sweeping in scope as the gulf between Suspiria's primary elegance and the dusty, deserted carnival of Hooper's Funhouse. To put it simply though, it's a retelling of Texas Chainsaw Massacre filtered through the sensibilities of Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, and that my friends is as sweet a combination to me as the mystical pairing of peanut butter and chocolate.

House of 1,000 Corpses is the film that re-ignited my love of all things horror. I went to see this in the theater by myself Saturday of its opening weekend and I vividly remember being so enthralled and overwhelmed by its audacity that I ran from friend to friend demanding they see it. This resulted in me seeing the film 5 times theatrically and press ganging no small amount of acquaintances into sitting through something they otherwise never would have. Every single time I saw it, without exception, there were walkouts. Usually after the nonsensical non-sequitir's shot in lurid photo negative, such as the "skunk ape" riff, some disgruntled dude would grab his girlfriends hand, stand them both up and loudly proclaim, "That's it, I've had enough of this shit!" and proceed to stomp disgustedly out the door. I found this heady stew of incongruent cryptozoological references, multitudinous horror imagery and audience provocation intoxicating.

My favorite reaction I was privy to during any of my viewings though, was during the scene when Moseley's Otis shoots Walton Goggins' Officer Nash in the face after an uncomfortably protracted crane shot. Zombie forces the rubberneckers out for a simplistic horror flick to silently stare at the image of an authority figure on his knees about to be executed by the apotheosis in degeneracy for what seems like an eternity. "Just fucking shoot him already!" one man exasperatedly howled before standing up and leaving once he had. And that's the point. The film, especially at the time it was released, shortly after the 2nd invasion of Iraq, felt like a transgression. It seemed as if a silent accord had been struck between America's heathen underground and a cult leader artist who aspired to be nothing short of Manson gone Hollywood, espousing the philosophy of killing at will because, "that's the way".

The Devil's Rejects took this moral fearlessness improbably further, but grounded it all in a stunning, singularity of vision and tone that saw Zombie maturing exponentially as a film maker. It's the one film of his most folks can agree to liking, and while not my favorite, it stirs in me a curious reaction of wistful melancholy every time I watch it. I'm no Grindhouse aficionado and certainly no supporter of Southern Radio Rock from the 70's, but the manner in which Zombie paints the wind burnt poetry of these tragic scumbags co-existing with the blood drenched lunacy they embody is truly something to behold. The "Freebird" ending is a perfect encapsulation of the outlaws dawning realization of inescapable obsolescence coupled with an acceptance both knowing and defiant. The soaring steadi-cam credit sequence of desolate, mountainous highways set to Terry Reid's Seed of Memory feels like a blissful elegy draping the film in a funeral shroud. The Devil's Rejects makes one feel nostalgic for a life they never lived in a time that never existed.

Now, the problematic part. Remaking Halloween was never going to be met with any thing but howls of blasphemy and the sort of hand wringing and endless wailing more suited to incensed religious extremists than horror fans. The original film is undeniably important and canonical. The first time I saw Zombie's Halloween (once I got past the excruciating opening dialog at the breakfast table at least) I was extremely impressed. I thought the young Michael stuff was fascinating and surprisingly heartfelt and I thought Tyler Mane's Shape was intimidating and looked cool as fuck. The more I watched it and the more I fell in with the online horror community, the more I began to share in the consensus revulsion toward it. Tempered by time, I consider it a film as spectacularly bold as it is monumentally flawed. If he could have followed through with his vision instead of grafting a regrettably sub par condensed version of Carpenter's classic on to the end of his film, we might have had something. As it stands, greatness exists within it dilapidated, rotten framework, if you care (or can stand) to look. The riotous Big Joe Grizzly scene. Michael's mask obsession further explored. The young Michael slaughtering his family at home and the bully in the woods. These inspired elements however, do not add up to a cohesive or satisfying whole.

Halloween 2 is the moment when Zombie officially stopped caring what anyone thought and committed to his vision 100%. It is the product of a true auteur at the height of his craft. I won't bother defending the narrative choices made except to say I am of the opinion they require no excuse. I love everything about the direction he took the characters, the psychological mumbo-jumbo he attached to Myers and especially how the tone vacillates wildly from exploitative to dramatic to comedic to outright ridiculous, sometimes within the confines of a single scene. No, my friends, I didn't come here to defend Rob Zombie's Halloween 2, I came to praise it. It is jaw droppingly bizarre, unapologetic with its experimentation and brutal beyond belief. I'm frankly shocked this film made it into theaters, but thank god it did as I revelled in its sanguinary passion no less than three times on a gargantuan screen at the local multiplex.

H2 is otherworldly from the first frame to the last, a disjointed nightmare run amok. The first 20 minutes are so beautifully shot and composed it nearly brings a tear to my eye each time I watch it. The murders are so unrepentantly vicious it's almost embarrassing. They serve as a well needed reminder to the calloused horror fan of how awful and ugly taking a life really is. It's a cinematic opera whose movements are comprised primarily of violence and mental sickness. It's everything I want horror to be. Beauty and ugliness in equal measure melting my synapses with irradiated imagery and cacophonous sound. I believe in time it will come to be well regarded for the miraculous oddity it is. It's a film with huge balls backed up by huge talent, and freakshows like that tend to put people off at first.

Zombie is prepping now to begin shooting Lords of Salem in Massachusetts this May. I'm tremulous with anticipation at the prospect of Zombie back in the Director's chair, fashioning his own film from his own story and mythos. The fact that Oren Pelli's production company, fresh off the resounding success of Insidious, is presenting this is a marvelous omen. I sense a reconciliation with the fanboys on the level of Elvis' 68 Comeback Special in the making. However it shakes out, I guarantee I'll be there front and center for multiple viewings, an acolyte awaiting further instruction in the realms of artistically photographed depravity.