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user\nI saw 'I Smell the Dead' -- sorry, 'I SELL the Dead' -- at a press screening. Glenn McQuaid, the film's writer-director-editor, is a laddish Irishman who introduced the screening by announcing that -- whilst it was in progress -- he would be 'going out for a pint'. I don't begrudge him a drink, but -- by telling us about it -- he seemed to feel he needed to certify his laddishness or his Irishness, or both. When the opening credits rolled, there were -- as usual at press screenings -- loud ovations for the names of every actor or crew member who'd got friends in the audience, and silence for those who hadn't. McQuaid returned for a witty Q&A afterwards.
This horror movie doesn't take itself seriously, which is good because its humour is considerably stronger than its horror. Only one scene is even remotely scary, and most of the 'horror' is merely gross-out, but I laughed throughout much of the film.
This movie appears to be set in Ireland circa 1850 (by which time grave-robbing was mostly defunct). The story is told in flashback: we get flashbacks within flashbacks, and the narrating character flashbacks material that he couldn't know about, because sometimes he wasn't present or (in one case) because the action is unfolding behind his back.
The story begins with a prisoner being taken to the guillotine. Guillotines weren't used in 19th-century Ireland, but -- for once -- we actually see a plausible guillotine sequence. The prisoner struggles on his way to execution, the rope cleats are accurate, and the prisoner manages to look up to see the blade overhead. (And there's a payoff later to justify the historically inaccurate use of the guillotine itself.)
The characters are ostensibly Irish, but one major character speaks in Cockney slang: using phrases like \"a mug's game\" and \"take a butcher's\" (for 'have a look'). For once, actors in 19th-century roles display 19th-century dental hygiene, yet nearly all the clothes and hairstyles (and the women's make-ups) are resolutely 21st-century. I'm not complaining in the case of Heather Bullock, who wears a very fetching black miniskirt cozzie that appears to be PVC. Phworr!
The lead actors (except Ron Perlman) are excellent, but most of the supporting cast have no sense of the Victorian period. The worst offender is Joel Garland as the publican, whose characterisation is firmly rooted in the twenty-first century. Just when I thought that Garland's performance couldn't get any less Victorian, he used his fingers to make \"ironic\" air-quotes.
The sets (especially Angus Scrimm's lab) are detailed and impressive, yet failed to convince me that people actually lived and worked in these places. Nearly every interior contains burning candles, but never once did I see what would have been there if these were actual Victorian homes or workplaces: leftover drippings from previous candles.
One scene features an extra-terrestrial: I was annoyed that McQuaid plumped for a stereotypical \"grey\" Schwa alien, rather than something original.
There are splendid montage sequences, but McQuaid opts for flashy effects -- split-screens, overhead shots -- that don't serve the story. I was impressed by a recurring blue-screen device superimposing the main characters' heads over other backgrounds. Less effective was a recurring 'Creepshow'-style motif of camera shots morphing actors' faces into drawings resembling panel art from 1950s EC horror comics. I'm a fan of EC Comics, but they don't belong in 19th-century Ireland. The money that McQuaid spent on flashy photo F/X -- showing off his editing skills without serving the story -- should've been spent on accurate costumes.
BIG SPOILERS NOW. Ron Perlman gives an \"Oirish\" performance full of acting-school tics. Ostensibly playing a 19th-century Irish priest, he writes with his left hand. (In Victorian Ireland, left-handed children were punished for using \"the devil's hand\" and were forcibly retrained to become righties.) But Perlman's character turns out to have a reason for concealing his right hand. Elsewhere, a character is bitten by a zombie yet suffers no ill effects, so I knew there'd be a payoff later. Several scenes that would more logically take place at night are shot in daylight, apparently only because this was easier and less expensive. (Since McQuaid is a proficient director and editor, he could easily have shot \"day for night\" ... but using a process-photography effect to help tell the story seems to interest him much less than showing off his flashy editing techniques.)
McQuaid seems to be giving homage to those great old Hammer horror flicks. But those Hammers were so great because the actors and production designers worked hard to convince us that we were actually witnessing events in 1888 Whitechapel, or wherever. 'I Sell the Dead' almost entirely fails to evoke the 19th century.
Glenn McQuaid shows talent as a director, scripter and editor, yet in all three capacities here he makes odd choices ... then largely fails to justify those choices. But I enjoyed 'I Sell the Dead'. I'll rate it 7 out of 10, and I look forward to his next movie.
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