Ah, Cemetery Man—or Dellamorte Dellamore for those of us who like to feel cultured while discussing zombie flicks. This 1994 Italian horror-comedy, directed by Michele Soavi, is as bizarre as it is brilliant, a cinematic fever dream that feels like the unholy lovechild of George Romero and Federico Fellini. It’s not just a movie; it’s an existential crisis with decapitations.
Rupert Everett stars as Francesco Dellamorte, a world-weary caretaker of a remote cemetery where the dead inconveniently rise seven days after burial. Armed with a revolver, a shovel, and a disposition so dour it makes Eeyore look cheery, Francesco spends his days re-killing the dead and pining after a mysterious woman (Anna Falchi) who appears in various guises, each more absurdly seductive than the last.
The film is ostensibly about zombies, but don’t let the reanimated corpses fool you—this isn’t your typical splatterfest. Sure, there are plenty of heads blown off and intestines spilling onto the floor, but Cemetery Man is more interested in pondering life’s Big Questions: What is love? What is death? Why does the mayor insist on burying people in a cemetery where everyone comes back to life? You know, the usual existential musings.
The tone is a delightfully surreal balancing act, careening between horror, black comedy, and philosophical melancholy. One moment, Francesco is delivering a soliloquy about the futility of existence; the next, his simple-minded assistant Gnaghi is projectile vomiting onto a grieving widow before falling in love with her decapitated head. Yes, you read that correctly.
Visually, the film is stunning. Soavi crafts a nightmarish, gothic atmosphere with shadowy crypts, fog-drenched graveyards, and hauntingly beautiful imagery that could double as an art exhibit. It’s a feast for the eyes, even when it’s serving up rotting corpses. And the score, a haunting mix of ethereal melodies and creepy undertones, adds to the film’s dreamlike quality.
But what truly elevates Cemetery Man is its refusal to play by the rules. The plot twists and turns in increasingly bizarre directions, building to a final act that’s either a stroke of genius or an elaborate prank on the audience. By the time the credits roll, you’ll be scratching your head and debating whether you’ve just witnessed a masterpiece or a very expensive joke.
Rupert Everett’s performance anchors the madness, delivering a pitch-perfect mix of deadpan humor and simmering despair. He’s the straight man in a world gone utterly bonkers, and his dry wit is the perfect counterpoint to the film’s absurdity. Anna Falchi, meanwhile, plays her various roles with such ethereal beauty and melodramatic flair that you can’t help but be captivated, even when her character’s motivations make no sense.
Would I recommend it? Absolutely. But only if you’re prepared for a film that doesn’t fit neatly into any box. Cemetery Man is weird, wild, and wholly unique—a cult classic that rewards those who embrace its off-kilter charm and willingness to get very, very strange.
Rating: 4.5 monocles out of 5
For its stunning visuals, dark humor, and existential musings, with a half-monocle deduction for its unapologetically baffling narrative. A must-watch for lovers of the macabre and the absurd.