Cemetery Man

S P O I L E R S

At a certain point in life, you realize you know more dead people than living.

Sounds like the words of a wizened senior, but are in fact those of Francesco Dellamorte, the young caretaker of the local cemetery in the small Italian town of Buffalora.  It is certainly true for him, and occupants of eternal rest are arriving steadily, with a twist; after a week in the ground they arise and try to sink their teeth into the living.  To stop them Francesco (Rupert Everett) must puncture their skulls, usually with a bullet.  His gun is busy.  Can't have a zombie uprising.

Why is this happening? Director Michele Soavi never does offer an explanation in 1994's CEMETERY MAN (that's the rather unimaginative title given for the American release.  The original is DELLAMORTE DELLAMORE).  It, like many other elements of this comedic horror film, are left for us to ponder.  Oh, Francesco seeks an investigation from the mayor into why these corpses become "returners",  but the latter is too concerned with re-election, so much so it leavens his grief when his own young daughter is killed in a bus/motorcycle accident.  Though, "shared grief" with potential voters might make a handy campaign slogan.

Francesco, one of the most literate filmic illiterates I've encountered, leads a lonely existence at the cemetery,  obsessed with telephone directories and with only his mentally challenged assistant Gnaghi, who gorges on pasta and watches a lot of television, to keep him company.  Then a beautiful widow (Anna Falchi) is spotted by the grave of her recently deceased beloved, a much older man, but a "tireless lover."  Francesco is instantly smitten and is soon showing her around an ossuary, a strangely romantic gesture in this context.  Later, they make love right on the dead husband's grave, because the widow "never kept anything from him".  The deceased arises and attacks his bride (killing her?). Francesco must put bullets in both of them.

Go away! I haven't got time for the living!

But wait.  That new mayor's assistant looks just like her.  And so does that prostitute, though Francesco doesn't know she is one until after the consummation.  And wait, um, again.  The movie informs us that Francesco is impotent, often via those taunting punks in the town square.  The vision of beauty, in at least two of her incarnations, is only attracted to impotent men! So what of those unmistakable post coital faces?

I'd give my life to be dead.

CEMETERY MAN, a sexy, highly quotable film I appreciate the more I think on it, can be enjoyed as a surface level neo-gialo, and director Soavi did work with the legendary Dario Argento.  His direction is wildly inventive and dazzling at times.  There are endlessly clever gags that always straddle the gruesome and humorous.  The violence is vivid but never realistic enough to have any emotional resonance.  You might also look deeper and form some sort of interpretation, that the whole thing is about the perils of the male libido, all the wonder and anxiety such would entail. Or maybe just the frustrations of dating itself?  There are also plot details that may suggest a satire on fascism.  Several philosophical moments to be had.  It's all pretty heady.

The Living Dead and the dying living are all the same.  Cut from the same cloth. 

I found it very funny.  Some of the comedy has a distinctly British vibe, as when the mayor's daughter finds it cute when Gnaghi, who fancies the young lass, gets nervous and vomits on her.  That story thread leads to some amusingly gross and sentimental moments, evoking memories of RE-ANIMATOR, DELICATESSEN, and Terry Gilliam films.

Everett, seen usually in lighter fare, is perfect as the beleagered protagonist, a simpleton cursed with insight not shared by those drones who live outside the cemetery gates, working and having families.  Maybe he's right; maybe there really isn't anything out in the rest of the world.   We find out during that wonderful climax.  The final scene will infuriate many viewers.  To me, it was perfection. 

You can't live on memories alone.