Nello Rossati
io Zombo, tu Zombi, lei Zomba

THE REVIEW

The previous year’s oddball conjugations like "Io tigro, tu tigri, egli tigra" weren't enough, the surreal tomfoolery of a nonsensical bawdiness of the ever-present (fortunately) Italian provincialism claims victims that this time resurrect themselves in the mists of out-of-the-way motels where everything is done half-assed.

It takes courage to label the film as parody horror, belittling it from its unexpectedly first-rate attributes. An absurd distillation of "nights of living dead," necronomicon-ed "houses," failed Cannibal holocausts, carbon copies of '70s "afterlife" comics, splatter not found: in short, local zombies "all'amatriciana."

It's not every day you have Montagnani as the bokor and the assurance that sooner or later we will visually encounter that perfection of buttocks that Nadia finds herself with, putting us in a barrel of certified fun, reinforced by the presence of Cochi Ponzoni. What can I say... any addition from any contemplated perspective would be belittling and out of place in front of such "trash." The present indicative of the verb "zombare," do you realize?

The impact is nauseating from the swing that rocks prohibitions of reason, confusing us about the stability of the platform of a cash-strapped naïve kitsch complete with a (mummyfied) mace(Mauro). Fortunately, the expectation of Cassini's curves arriving nails us to the chair until the end, making us confess our opportunistic necrophilia; it's not our fault if they resurrected Gianna Lou Müller for us.

Essential for the video library, to be placed "to the right" of W la Foca. Cheers...