A bit of promotional art for Rob Zombie's next flick, Tyrannosaurs Rex, hit the net yesterday. Despite the amusingly filthy tag line and the garish Frank Frazetta meets Enzo G. Castellari artwork, one can't help but groan a little when seeing this thing. Hasn't Rob gone down this tired road before?
And more that once: Rob’s terrible debut, House of 1000 Corpses, was an little more than an extended Texas Chain Saw Massacre homage. His shockingly good sequel, The Devil’s Rejects, took his psychobilly clan on the road, moving through the plot outline of Empire Strikes Back. In 2007, Zombie swapped Tobe Hooper for John Carpenter, remaking Carpenter’s seminal Halloween into a joyless hash. (His Grindhouse fake trailer contribution Werewolf Women of the SS can't even get it's homages straight.)
In his defense, Zombie has chops as a director. Visually, his work is admirable, alternating gritty realism (the seedy hotel from Rejects) with formal beauty (the slow motion apocalypse of Rejects ending.) His portrayals of violence are unflinching and nasty, but laced with black humor. His films are steeped in genre history and lore, giving perfect roles to aging genre icons (Bill Mosley, Ken Foree, Sid Haig, Michael Berryman etc.).
Even his best moment feel cribbed from other films. Despite how lovingly crafted they are, Corpses and Rejects feel like the world's most elaborate Tobe Hooper homages, muting their potentially subversive edges. Showcasing levels graphic violence, profanity, and general nastiness seldom seen in mainstream features, Zombie strives for the type of in-your-face punch that Quentin Tarantino pulls of with aplomb. It’s hard to take things seriously when the whole thing feels like a giant in-joke filled put-on. Tarantino can synthesize his myriad influences into something that feels original. Zombie’s best efforts feel second hand.
Taking a look at that Tyrannosaurs Rex poster again, I can’t help but feel déjà-vu. The tag line uses the words "motherfucker" and “son-of-a-bitch," familiar from nearly every line of Zombie dialogue. The guy in the middle is clearly Danny Trejo. Sheri Moon Zombie is the blonde. Ken Foree, maybe, as the guy on the left? The wrecked vehicles suggest a stab at Mad Max-type dystopia. Perhaps Zombie will add George Miller to his catalog of influences?
It might be premature to judge a film from just a poster, but Zombie’s track record suggests otherwise.
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