ZOMBIE LAKE (1981)
aka Le Lac Des Morts Vivants
Directed by Jean Rollin
Image Entertainment DVD
THE FILMS
When people don't show up for work in the United States, they get fired. No one is happy. When people don't show up for work in Europe, they get Zombie Lake.
Everyone is happy.
In the right hands, preordained deficiency can be majestic. Check out Doris Wishman's A Night To Dismember for an ideal taste. Like that forced-experimental beauty, Zombie Lake is in the right hands. As the story (and Phil Hardy's Overlook Encyclopedia Of Horror) goes, gutter-poet Jess Franco was all set to direct the self-penned film. However, when the clapboards clapped, Franco was M.I.A. Eurocine put out a call. Jean Rollin answered. Here's where the strings come in.
Zombie Lake is inevitable magic. At face value, it's a full frontal nude-cutie which just happens to showcase a handful of placid WWII zombies at a most economized peak. That's reason enough to love it. And, if anyone other than Jean Rollin had directed, that may very well have been the only reason to love it. For you see, like fellow Frenchman Eric Rohmer, Rollin is an elegant aesthete beset with cataloging his particular obsessions on film. Over. And over. And over. But where Rohmer finds contentment in the exploration of men, women, and their complex desires, Rollin seeks joy in breasts, pubes, and their respective placement within the canon of horror. So what happens when an assured artisan is thrown into a situation with no time to think, no clout to spread, and little room for craftsmanship? You got it: magic. Inevitably.
Slightly west of Ogroff's enchanted forest lies the Lake Of The Dead. It works on the same principle: whenever someone gets close (in this case, very naked ladies), they bite the big one at the hands and mouths of green-faced, eyes-bulged soldier zombies. Sometimes, zombies emerge from the lake with not one drop of water on them. Other times, the lake magically transforms into a pool when the camera moves underwater. Soon enough, some oddly assembled villagers, led by lethargic mayor Howard Vernon, decide to take care of business. A reporter talks to Howard. Flashbacks of sex during wartime reveal that the head zombie has a child; he wants to give her his dead wife's pendant. Most of this happens after a Volkswagen full of female volleyball players arrives at the lake. There is also a giant flame thrower.
Bon travail, M. Rollin!
For 80 minutes, Zombie Lake floats by on a stoned cloud of adolescent escapism, melodramatic oafishness, and spontaneous technique. That is to say, it's a sumptuous mess, residing on a regal tier where absurdity begets singularity and singularity begets lo-fi grandeur. Everything about the film is wrong. Everything about the film is right. And, unlike a majority of Rollin's filmography, you don't have to work for it -- the flowing, slow-burn dreaminess is innate. Everywhere. Fluid pianos, ominous string quartets, and cocktail hour jazz (all courtesy Daniel White, Jess Franco's stock composer) complement the quivering camerawork, while both propel the mood. Left-in shots of equipment, crew members, and people cracking up enhance the bizarre sense of real-life urgency. Boobs serve as padding when zombie soldiers do not. Everyone appearing onscreen appears to be either highly confused or highly disconnected or highly entertained. Just like us.
And, hopefully, just like Jean Rollin.
AUDIO AND VIDEO
My TV was manufactured in 2009. This DVD was manufactured in 2001. Yet, they still make beautiful music together. Life can be so nice at times.
EXTRAS
There's a strange trailer with no typography or narration, six minutes of alternate "clothed" sequences (c'mon), and an alternate English title sequence, which consists of yellow type on a black playing field (and that's it).
FINAL THOUGHTS
Five years and several Jean Rollin films later, I've finally found "the one". Zombie Lake is both a mistake and a triumph, thereby securing its place alongside A Night To Dismember, Meatcleaver Massacre, and Another Son Of Sam as a trash-horror fever dream which should be celebrated endlessly. So do so.
— Joseph A. Ziemba, 08.05.10 |
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