Redneck Zombies (1987)

Reviewed on Oct 17, 2007 under Comedy, Horror |

Directed by Pericles Lewnes
Written by Fester Smellman
Starring
- Lisa DeHaven
- W.E. Benson
- Zoofeet
- James H. Housely
- Anthony Burlington-Smith

Lloyd Kaufman of Troma is under the impression (or, at least, he was when he recorded his video introduction to the DVD) that Redneck Zombies was the first shot-on-video feature released on video. Of course, you and I can easily refute that by pointing to Blood Cult (1985). But Redneck Zombies was certainly there in the first batch out of the chute, and certainly deserves more attention in the history of do-it-yourself microbudget cinema than the pseudo-trilogy of Blood Cult, The Ripper (2005), and Revenge (2006). Those three movies attempted to be for-real movies, shot cheaply on Sony Betacam, to be taken seriously (or at least not to be considered intentional comedies). But no one was going to take seriously a movie shot with video cameras, and the lack of film only highlighted the other deficiencies — wooden acting, cheap sets, dumb dialogue — that would have made them unremarkable dreck if shot on 16mm.

But Pericles Lewnes, director of Redneck Zombies, realized ahead of time that no one would take a shot-on-video horror flick seriously in the mid-’80s, and uses that to his advantage by making a movie that no one should take seriously no matter the medium. Though Troma, which has long distributed the title, had no hand in its production, Lewnes was consciously inspired by the general tenor of Troma’s output in crafting his opus with tongue firmly in cheek and outlandishness thrown into the proceedings in huge dollops whenever the action starts to flag. You can’t really say that Redneck Zombies was any closer to “good filmmaking” than the Blood Cult trilogy, but it’s clear that Redneck Zombies doesn’t WANT to be considered “good” — this is a movie made as an excuse for bad taste, and on that score, it succeeds.

The setup is spun directly from the oft-stolen premise of the Return of the Living Dead movies: there’s this oil-barrel-sized canister, see, of extremely dangerous radioactive biowaste. It’s so dangerous that it can only be transported between bases by… a single enlisted man, Robinson (Tyrone Taylor), who’s got the canister slung lopsided in the back of his jeep as he cruises the ill-maintained rural roads that are the only means of transportation between military centers in this great land of ours, stoned out of his mind. It’s no wonder, then, that the canister just happens to bounce off the jeep and roll down an embankment.

From there, it ends up in the hand of the Clemson clan — father Jed (W.E. Benson) and sons Junior, Jethro, and Billy Bob (P. Floyd Pirana, William-Livingston Dekker and Zoofeet) — the latter of whom wears a halter top and insists on being called “Elly May.” These, as you might guess, are rednecks, although by the standards to which I ascribe governing the labeling of localized subcultures, they’re closer to “hillbillies.” They are, of course, both illiterate and belligerent; and as befits their station in life, they’re also moonshiners. Professional moonshiners, even. Their last still has recently been shot up by rival moonshiner Ferd (Bucky Santini), and so the sudden acquisition of this brightly-painted metal barrel with the indecipherable markings on it (what you and I would call “the English language”) is a lucky happenstance.

But while they’re fixing up their new apparatus, we’re also introduced to — wait for it — a group of campers! Where would the horror movie genre be without family cabins, or summer camps, or simple overnight hiking trips? Fresh out of meat, that’s where. Out jolly hillbillies may be too unsympathetic to be our official protagonists, but these cityfolk out roughing it aren’t much better. Here’s who we’ve got:

Wilbur (James H. Housely), who used to live in the environs but moved away a decade ago, now leading his friends back to a primo camping spot by a pond.
Andy (Martin J. Wolfman), nebbish white guy.
Sally (Boo Teasedale) and Lisa (Lisa DeHaven), the two white girls. We know that Lisa will end up being “Final Girl,” because there’s a framing device at the beginning with her straitjacked in an institution.
Bob and Theresa (Anthony Burlington-Smith and Darla Deans), the black couple. (None of the others in the expedition seem particular attached to one another.)
The other guy (I dunno). He’s chunky and hairy, he never has a line, and every time we see him he’s downing a bottle of hard liquor. Eventually, it becomes apparent that this is a running gag, but I’m not even sure whether it started out intentional or whether it simply evolved as shooting progressed.

While our fine junior outdoorspersons hike, set up camp, and smoke some grass, they interact in that format so well known to denizens of low-end cinema: they bicker. Also, they whine, make and rebuff blunt sexual references, and occasionally call into question the size of one another’s genitalia. This is sophistication, see, in stark contrast to the rednecks’ rural ways.

Speaking of the rednecks, it doesn’t take too long for them to get their still operating, with the barrel unrinsed (and some of its contents accidentally splashed into the mash). The resulting moonshine looks like Lime Kool-Aid in pint Mason jars, but they go ahead and send Billy Bob — excuse me, Elly May — to truck their deliveries in and around town, while the other three sample their new recipe.

Which would mean, you know, they become zombies. But only after every single cheap digital effect has played over them howling and cackling and writhing on the ground — afterimages, overexposures, you name it. This movie comes closest to surrealist art when either Junior or Jethro (don’t blame me for being unable to tell them apart, neither can their dad Jed) starts bellowing at the sky, “Aliens! Aliens!”

Thus, after the campers start to wake from their cannabis-induced naps, Sally heads off into the woods to answer nature’s call, accidentally discovers the still site, and also accidentally discovers a zombified redneck. Important anatomy lesson: According to this movie, the weakest structural point in the human body is right across the belly; at least three people get pulled apart right at that spot as the movie unfolds. Then Theresa follows Sally, and gets more of the same. And then everybody else finds the remains, and freaks right out. (Bob, who up until now has behaved himself as a genteel and educated African-American, spends the rest of the movie in spooked Stepin Fetchit mode.)

While all of this has been going on, Elly May has been dutifully making deliveries, which leads one to wonder, When exactly is this supposed to be taking place? Was the pot-aftermath nap over the night, or just through part of the afternoon? Or is Elly May delivery clear until sunup? Apparently time of day was never a consideration during shooting, so any scene could appear to be taking place at any time of AM or PM. Anyway, just to keep things interesting, Elly May’s deliveries include a “freelance butcher” who uses people as raw material, a mother who promptly pours ’shine into her infant’s bottle, and a couple of yee-haw types watching probably the worst porno tape in the world. Pretty much the whole town, in fact. Which means that there are plenty of gelatin- and greasepaint-smeared zombies to come lurching out of the woods to attack our surviving campers. No telling, though, why they all decided to lurch out of town to that particular spot in the wilderness.

What really differentiates this movie from the Blood Cult trilogy and makes it the true grandpappy of indie SOV horror is the repeating phenomenon of Filmmakers Amusing Themselves. When you’re making a movie for pocket change, suddenly having fun on the set becomes one of the most important considerations. That’s how you get scenes that make their tiny leaps into inspired lunacy, to make up for having such a thin plotline. These include:

- The Tobacco Man (E.W. Nesneb), the warped analogue to the Ice Cream Man who visits the backwoods with a floursack over his deformed face and distributes chew to the hillbillies.

- Elly May’s hitchhiker (Frank Lantz), a compulsive shaver who apes the hitcher scene from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974).

- Bob, still tripping, attempting to conduct an autopsy on a zombie and hallucinating all sorts of incongruous items among the guts. (Okay, the scene’s actually not that amusing, but it’s still indicative of doing whatever is fun on the set.)

- The pink-to-the-gills soldier (Jim Bellistri), one of two who come back with Robinson to retrieve the canister. Unlike Elly May, who’s merely gender-confused, this soldier flounces and simpers and titters like an entire platoon of junior high girls. He meets his end by diving right into a throng of zombies to live out his Deliverance fantasy.

There is certainly gore aplenty, which is what most people remember this for: Splatter and grue gets on everyone and everything, in a number of different colors and consistencies. But somehow, you can almost smell the Jell-O and cherry syrup behind it all. Considered as a motion picture made by filmmakers for an audience to watch, it’s seriously lacking; considered by the genre-indie standard of a video made by some guys for some other guys to watch, it’s surprisingly entertaining.