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So obviously I need to talk about The Evil Dead. I've been avoiding it, overwhelmed by the prospect -- I've been avoiding a lot of movies on my "to-do" list for the same reason, actually. But okay, here we are.

You sure this is a good idea, guys?

Yeah, totally, go for it. We'll be right... back here.

I'm going to have to split this post into two parts, because it's seriously way, way too much ground to cover in one post. The first part is where I gush about how awesome this movie is. The second part is where I suggest that it's immoral and unethical and that Raimi/Tapert/Campbell should probably be ashamed of themselves.

Never let it be said that my opinions are simple.

Complicated lady.

It's the elephant in the room for me personally: earlier this year, I watched it every single night as I fell asleep. It is actually good for that: the dialogue drops off drastically after the first half-hour. I usually fall asleep right after the tree rape. ...God. Okay, yeah, it's something we need to talk about. But that'll be in part II.

Okay. [deep breath] I love the movie, in bizarre and perhaps unseemly ways. It grabs ahold of my lizard brain and won't let go.

Ordinarily I'm a big proponent of story and character as central to a good film, but really, this one's just about pictures. Brutal, bizarre images and the raw, unformed ball of charisma that was Baby Bruce -- even when you don't know what the hell is going on, you can't look away.

Cutie.

Raimi's natural talent as a director is here in its purest form: essentially making it up as he goes along, he comes up with unrelenting craziness and makes it look easy. With virtually no professional equipment, he accomplishes incredible things: that overhead tracking shot of Ash he got by hooking his legs on the cabin's rafters, gymnast-style, and shooting while hanging upside-down.

There isn't a single inch of this cabin Raimi didn't wedge himself into to get a shot. Here he is under the stairs. 

I think Campbell was standing on Raimi's face for this one.

Stories like that make me assume that they were using Bolexes or some other super-light camera with no sync-sound, then looping sound later on. By contrast, essentially exactly the same equipment was used to make Manos: The Hands of Fate.

It's gonzo indie filmmaking at its absolute height, and you can't not love and admire it for everything it accomplishes. I'm not of the school of indie apologists who will say that about movies like Manos -- if this movie bit the big one as hard as that one does, I wouldn't be writing about it. But this is great filmmaking and a great example of what infinite determination and unbelievable patience can do -- the movie took more than two years to complete. Dude, that's essentially a master's degree.

Actually, getting a Master's degree is a lot like this. 

I do acknowledge that there is a definite camp factor here, and that it's a big part of why the movie is awesome and why I love it so much. I admit I was genuinely shocked when Raimi said the film wasn't meant to be funny, because it doesn't have that Ed Wood quality that makes failure charming -- it doesn't feel like a failed horror film, but rather a successfully campy comedy/horror film.

Whee!

But I guess part of the reason I laugh is the gonzo factor -- all the fluids going ever-which-way, the obvious glee with which they're covering Bruce in a film of goo, all the monsters making noises that veer from "eerie" to "frickin' loud" to "asthmatic fruit bat." You go that far over the top, a fair amount of camp just comes with the territory.

On the Evil Dead II commentary, talking about the latest puddle of goo they'd immersed Bruce in, Raimi notes, "My policy is to soak Bruce's membranes in as many strange dyes and liquids and potions and chemicals as possible."

Fluids everywhere.

Joe Bob Briggs characterizes Evil Dead thusly: "On the old barf meter... I think you'll agree that this is the paint-the-room-red vomit champion of 1983." That's from "The Evil Dead: Red Meat City," compiled in Joe Bob Goes to the Drive-in. Joe Bob didn't manage to get the film into a Grapevine, Texas drive-in until 1983, incredibly enough. 

And yet, there are some truly chilling moments. Cheryl's initial moments of possession, with that broken-doll pose (Tyra would be so proud!*) as she hangs in mid-air, that angry Pazuzu voice, and the genuinely effective make-up still manage to give me a little shiver every now and then.

The blood flood in the basement, played for freakout factor here (rather than Three Stooges-y punchline it would be when they revisit the gag in Evil Dead II), is still effective, particularly with that revved-up carnival music.

Let's see Nicholson try this.

That moment of foreboding in the third scene as they approach the house for the first time works so well, with the slamming of the porch swing like the clock counting out the final moments until their fates are sealed.

And leading up to that, I've always like the drive through the woods that brings them to the cabin; growing up in rural eastern North Carolina, I knew a lot of people whose "driveways" were those long unpaved back roads, and the movie perfectly captures that moment of doubt and danger as you wonder what's really at the other end.

I could say a lot of good things about Evil Dead, but few of them are new. The criticisms aren't new either, but some of them deserve more nuance than I think they've gotten before.

So, next time, I rip the beloved movie to shreds. Ash is so excited!



*It has occurred to me that the overlap between potential readers of my blog and fans of America's Next Top Model is, most likely, pretty much just me. That's okay. My planet is a weird but fabulous one.