So, you’re likely asking, why in the name of tap-dancing Jesus would anyone even think about creating a sequel to one of the worst movies ever made. Well–your guess is really as good as mine. Make an assortment of guesses. Because I have no flipping clue. Anyway, literally about fifteen minutes in to my notes, I’m watching, and hoping, and then I see the zombies whom have green teeth, and bad white skin. Their teeth is neon green by the way, and their skin makes them look like mimes. And then I put one star without a doubt next to the title. Sometimes I’ll end up changing it, but usually the grade I give a film stays permanent and I didn’t have to worry about changing it during the course of this wretched sequel. It’s a bad movie. Really bad. Not Uwe Boll bad, that I can attest to, but it’s bad. And there’s still no fucking house.
Where do I begin, really? So many gripes, so little time to do it in, and I know I’ll forget something. The dead are taking over the world. And there’s no emergency broadcast, no alarm, or news covering it, and no one really seems to give a crap. At one point the colonel (Ellie Cornell shamelessly returning, and armed in a wheelchair which is an obvious reference to her body being eaten in half in the first film) hands our stubbled hero a photo of a city that’s been laid to waste due to the “infection”. And then cut to people eating in a swanky restaurant, considering that in the next scene it’s confirmed that zombies are in the city. Yes, as you suspect, it’s campy, with gratuitous nudity, featuring a lot of fake, plastic, blonde Barbie dolls in the opening. Give me a break.
And there’s Sid Haig doing double duty being featured as a mortician here, and soon in the second “Night of the Living Dead” remake. He dies really quickly, and we cut to the opening which was incredibly, incredibly, incredibly derivative of the chaotic opening to the “Dawn” remake. But where the “Dawn” remake’s opening had balls, this one is more comedic and funny. And then after the ten minute opening which screamed “padding”, we cut again to the restaurant where their resident French stereotypical chef is eating on his break outside of his restaurant, in a dark alley, with fog. There’s not much fog in the city, for all you country dwellers. And we enter in to the official “story” where, for some reason, we enter in to more rag tag group of soldiers whom form an unlikely bond in combat. Why? Who knows? Isn’t the tragedy with average people much more compelling? I think so.
But the French stereotype isn’t the end. We’re given the militant black guy, the Asian who knows Karate, the fat guy who is fat simply for comedic relief (Ah, obesity), and the girls whom don’t really serve a purpose. Oh, shoot, I forgot. The zombies are not called zombies, they’re called “hyper-sapiens”. I’ll wait for you to stop laughing… done? Okay. So, most of the movie is these soldiers in an abandoned dark college building looking for the hyper sapiens. Stop laughing. The college is dark, which is hinted to be without power, but there are lamps on the library. Do they think about turning on the lights to see the hyper-sapiens? No. And even if they do know they have to hunt zombies in a dark building, why not wear night vision goggles? Sorry, I’m adding logic to this. Moving on, I’ll just throw out random plot points instead of trying to form my horror in to a cohesive review. Ready… go! Zombie mosquitoes. You read right. Keep that in mind. In one hilarious sequence, “The Sarge” bitten while standing begins stiffening up in almost Chaplin esque comedic flair. Ow.
That’s the wound of a bad movie. Zombies walk when approaching the heroes, and run when approaching supporting cast members. Our heroine sets off a sprinkler system and disconnects the fuse box electrocuting the zombies, but water that’s sprayed on them doesn’t affect them. We get references to the original film (Goody, Santa read my letter!) which features a really bad actress standing in for the original really bad actress. I won’t say either’s name for the fear that it’ll be publicity, but suffice it to say this new one is worse (Worst delivery of a line: “Where.is.he.pro.fess.or?!”). Zombie football players, trying to tackle our heroes. You know what, I’m not even going to bother finishing this damn review. Much like Monty Python, I’ll just walk off. I don’t know what to put here, I’m just exhausted from sitting through what I can sum up as the cinematic equivalent of a rectal exam. Uncomfortable, embarrassing, painful, disconcerting, you just want it to end already, and when you’re done you’re bitter and sour. And you can’t shake that feeling that you’ve been violated.