Most of the critics, even those who like the movie, miss its point. Not a 'good guys/bad guys" kind of movie, it's not actually even a horror film. We might think it is because Zombie's visual prowess rips the screen; in this, his power is damn near overwhelming. Right away, he pins us down with in your face close-ups and fast cutting, and we stay down all the way through the movie. The point is not so much the story that unfolds, it's the experience of the story that's important. The viewer is the main victim here, and I don't mean that as a criticism. Rendering us powerless is, I think, the film's goal; Zombie wants us to feel, but he also wants us to think about what we feel. In a good verses bad melodrama we stay hooked because we want to know how the story is going to turn out in the end. Given the extremity of this experience, I think it's pretty clear from the very start that nothing good will come from this; the good guys and bad guys are pretty interchangeable, and by the end dust and blood is all that will be left.
Some critics seem to think Zombie glorifies his violence. Some even go so far as to say he wants us to root for the crazy family. This confuses me, because at no time did I feel Zombie condones the Firefly family antics; their victims, unlike in most Hollywood movies, feel what's happening to them. Indeed, the Firefly's, themselves, feel what's happening when the Sheriff turns the tables. Nothing glamorous here, at all. And if, for instance, the Entertainment Weekly critic really believes this film is a Hard Rock, guts and glory celebration, I really wonder: what movie did he see? Because Zombie's movie is not about rooting for this character or that, it's about the conflict between power and powerlessness. We're inside a world of moral and physical decay, a world devoid of meaning beyond that which stimulates senses, otherwise dulled and empty. HOUSE OF A THOUSAND CORPSES starts off with " God Is Dead" on a truck crossing the frame. Yes, He most certainly is, and with each mindless, crazy pop culture reference that follows, we begin to realize that culture and though is also dead; dead, but eating itself. Zombie has defined his point ever further in this movie. Torture in DEVIL'S REJECTS comes with comment; the characters talk, talk, talk; I think what they say is an attempt to give their actions meaning. But what meaning is there, even when the Sheriff does his bit, in annihilation? I think that's the film's point. We are meant to feel the physical and moral force of the film's violence; from the beginning it's a no-win situation all the way around the board. That ending, with Zombie's ironic use of Freebird, is the ending of BREATHLESS, BONNIE AND CLYDE, THE WILD BUNCH, THELMA AND LOUISE, and maybe a bit of WHITE HEAT all rolled into one. Zombie's two movies are both sharp and sophisticated social satires masquerading as exploitation movies. Within this form, Zombie can cut to the bone. He doesn't have to be nice or even justify his intention. He can leave out motivation that, in other kinds of movies, distance the viewer's relationship to violent and unpleasant action. We live in a violent world, and, with terrorism and such, it just seems to be getting worse and worse. The Fireflys do terrible things - and we accept what they do as being terrible - but the movie does not make them hockey mask killers with supernatural powers. These characters are human, they are a family; being so, they come at us with a frightening reality. Real people do terrible things. Zombie's vision seems modern and unpretentious to me. These people are real, and seemingly hopeless. What they believe and want out of life is reflected in how far they will challenge and tempt and goad those who have the unfortunate luck to be in their path. Sexual gratification doesn't seem to be the point: to them, an act of torture is a challenge, it's a philosophical act. That final moment chills us not because it's the Wild Bunch taking their last stand; we are effected because these characters have nothing, stand for nothing, and, somehow, they know it. This is a brilliant, serious film, a masterpiece that, I think, in time, will reveal much about our world and its current condition.
Rob Zombie is one of the most important directors of his generation.
Some critics seem to think Zombie glorifies his violence. Some even go so far as to say he wants us to root for the crazy family. This confuses me, because at no time did I feel Zombie condones the Firefly family antics; their victims, unlike in most Hollywood movies, feel what's happening to them. Indeed, the Firefly's, themselves, feel what's happening when the Sheriff turns the tables. Nothing glamorous here, at all. And if, for instance, the Entertainment Weekly critic really believes this film is a Hard Rock, guts and glory celebration, I really wonder: what movie did he see? Because Zombie's movie is not about rooting for this character or that, it's about the conflict between power and powerlessness. We're inside a world of moral and physical decay, a world devoid of meaning beyond that which stimulates senses, otherwise dulled and empty. HOUSE OF A THOUSAND CORPSES starts off with " God Is Dead" on a truck crossing the frame. Yes, He most certainly is, and with each mindless, crazy pop culture reference that follows, we begin to realize that culture and though is also dead; dead, but eating itself. Zombie has defined his point ever further in this movie. Torture in DEVIL'S REJECTS comes with comment; the characters talk, talk, talk; I think what they say is an attempt to give their actions meaning. But what meaning is there, even when the Sheriff does his bit, in annihilation? I think that's the film's point. We are meant to feel the physical and moral force of the film's violence; from the beginning it's a no-win situation all the way around the board. That ending, with Zombie's ironic use of Freebird, is the ending of BREATHLESS, BONNIE AND CLYDE, THE WILD BUNCH, THELMA AND LOUISE, and maybe a bit of WHITE HEAT all rolled into one. Zombie's two movies are both sharp and sophisticated social satires masquerading as exploitation movies. Within this form, Zombie can cut to the bone. He doesn't have to be nice or even justify his intention. He can leave out motivation that, in other kinds of movies, distance the viewer's relationship to violent and unpleasant action. We live in a violent world, and, with terrorism and such, it just seems to be getting worse and worse. The Fireflys do terrible things - and we accept what they do as being terrible - but the movie does not make them hockey mask killers with supernatural powers. These characters are human, they are a family; being so, they come at us with a frightening reality. Real people do terrible things. Zombie's vision seems modern and unpretentious to me. These people are real, and seemingly hopeless. What they believe and want out of life is reflected in how far they will challenge and tempt and goad those who have the unfortunate luck to be in their path. Sexual gratification doesn't seem to be the point: to them, an act of torture is a challenge, it's a philosophical act. That final moment chills us not because it's the Wild Bunch taking their last stand; we are effected because these characters have nothing, stand for nothing, and, somehow, they know it. This is a brilliant, serious film, a masterpiece that, I think, in time, will reveal much about our world and its current condition.
Rob Zombie is one of the most important directors of his generation.