Five Funny Undead Movies

Everyone likes to be scared. (Okay, not everyone. But if you’re reading this, then yes, you do.) But how about giggling during your brain eating? Not every horror flick needs to be a serious spine tingler. Humor can liven up a scary flick. What follows are the funniest zombie (or zombiesque) films around.

5 Evil Dead

Rami has a gift for delivering chills and gags all at the same time. The demon possessed folk aren’t exactly zombies, yet they stumble around asking Bruce Campbell to “join them.” This is probably the most serious of the bunch, but still good fun.

4 Dead Alive

Everyone knows Peter Jackson from The Lord of the Rings. Few know that he started with slapstick horror. Honestly, you can’t get more gore than Dead Alive. It takes gross to a whole new level. But the film is dead on funny. It has a zombie baby, a plague infested rat, and a kung fu practicing priest. “I kick ass for the Lord.” Come on, give it a go.

Zombie baby

3 Evil Dead II

If the first Evil Dead was great, the squeal is awesome. But this isn’t really a continuation of the story. It’s a remake with a bigger budget and more laughs. Bruce Campbell (aka Ash) has to do battle with his severed hand. He replaces his lost appendage with a chainsaw and proceeds to cut up some demon possessed people. All while black blood spews everything. For fun, count the number of head injuries Ash sustains in the film.

Ash tripping out as the house creaks and lamps start dancing.

2 Shaun of the Dead

This movie simultaneously pays homage to nearly every great zombie flick while making you roll over laughing. One of the best scenes is one that would probably happen in real life. Simon Pegg (Shaun) is going through his morning routine of picking up a soda and an ice cream from the corner shop. He fails to notice the staggering corpses in the streets or the bloody hand print on the glass door.

1 Dead and Breakfast

This is a highly under appreciated movie. Watch this and you will never look at blueberry pie the same again. It has it all. Line dancing zombies (alright, possessed people, but they act like zombies). A person’s head used as a hand puppet. And David Carradine.

Eating blueberry pie and ignorant of the gore behind him.

Tim Kane


I am an Alice in Wonderland nut. Strange to say, coming from a guy, but I think it’s a terrific world begging to be explored. Most of my love is visual. I’m excited by the fantasy and, well let’s say it, the wonder of it. My recent manuscript echoes this in that I strive to create a magical world with it’s own rules.

As inspiration, I continue to snatch up images that speak to me of Alice.

A wonderfully creepy image of the dormouse drinking tea. This is from a series called ‘Almost Alice’ by Maggie Taylor. There is a whole series of illustrations you can view at Retronaut.

I have no clue where this image came from (I found it here). I simply love the gritty, almost textural feel of the walls and stockings. I also love that we only see her legs. She’s that tall.

Look at the detail in this queen. This screams “pissed off.” This is created by character designer Michael Kutsche.

Finally, I just finished watching Face Off on Sci Fi channel where the effects artists created zombie versions of Alice in Wonderland characters. The concept was Alice in Zombieland. Few photos were available.

This was the winning design. It showed a mutated Red Queen whose bones are growing into a crown.
What a fabulous movie this would make. If only.

Tim Kane

Do-It-Yourself Zombie Kit

Making zombies can be easy, and fun. You needn’t wait around for the zombie plague to come to your town. Apocalyptic events are unpredictable and hard to rely on. Besides, roving zombies can be messy, breaking your windows, and trotting all over your prized petunias. Finally, the risk of personal infection with your local mob of living dead is high.

No, all you need to create an ambulatory moldering corpse of your very own can be found in your local supermarket and hardware store. You’ll need to create Zombie Powder. Although Haitian bòkòs will use puffer fish venom (the active ingredient being tetrodotoxin), you needn’t go so far. The simple powder of a dead man’s bones will do. How do you acquire such a rarity? Well, if zombie making were simple, we’d be flooded in lumbering dead, wouldn’t we. The remaining ingredients are a bit simpler: lizard, spider, nettle, ground glass, and cashews. Raw cashews are best, as they are poisonous, but the canned variety will do in a pinch. Just be sure you don’t get salted nuts, as your zombie detests salt.

Mixing the ingredients couldn’t be easier. Just dump them all in a food processor. You’ll have some trouble with the bones and the glass. Start by smashing them with a sledgehammer, and work down to a regular claw hammer. Then switch to a mortar and pestle. Once ground up, you can combine them with the other ingredients in a mixing bowl. Be sure to use a spoon or mixer, not your hands. Otherwise your spouse will find you zombified in the kitchen the following morning.

Next you’ll need a willing volunteer, or victim, your choice. No need to strap him down and inject the powder. It can be slipped into food or blown into the face. If you want to avoid a costly burial and subsequent disinterment, plan to have a secure place to deposit the body while it zombifies. A basement with a sturdy lock will do. The process takes a scant eight hours.

When your zombie awakens, he will hunger for brains and internal organs. He will not recognize you as master or creator, only food. In throes of birth pangs, he can be taught. Have a flexible shaft of wood ready (I recommend a 1 x 2 board, maybe three feet long). Call out the zombie’s name and beat him severely along the back and head. Try to avoid the arms, unless you want to cripple him and limit his usefulness. This is why your shaft should be flexible. You don’t want to break any bones. If you happen to have a cane, this is ideal. After about an hour of whipping, you’ll find your zombie more compliant. If he every gets out of line, you’ll need to whip him again, so be prepared.

You’ll need to immediately feed your zombie, as he is famished. Failure to do so is a trust breaker, and leads to a fussy zombie. Again, be prepared. Have a couple of people ready to munch or at the very least some cow brains. This will sate your zombie and make him more compliant.

At this point, making your next zombies is only a bite away. Simply let your corpse nibble on his next meal, but beat him away before he devours it entirely. Within eight hours, your new zombie will rise.

Let me offer a word of warning here. The temptation to create an unstoppable army of dead is overwhelming. But stop and think. Is this really a wise idea? You need to apply severe and regular beating to control your one zombie. How will manage with two, much less a troop of the living dead. Answer, you won’t. You’ll be food for the undead legion and the zombie plague will have begun. Most citywide infestations have had their root in undisciplined zombie practitioners.

Now that you have your zombie, put him to work. Make him rake the yard, clean the dishes, take out the trash. All those chores you never want to do, but feel guilty about letting slide. Your zombie only exists to serve you. And eat brains. Perhaps he leans toward the latter, but if you keep him in steady supply of cerebellums, he’ll do what you want him to.

Where to get the brains? You’ll need at least two to three a day, though you can tide him over with intestines, liver, and the like. Be sure not to bring any brains that will be easily missed — Police, doctors, army officials — as this will call attention to your little operation. If you do get raided, claim your zombie is a pot head and he did it all himself. It doesn’t always work, but it’s that or run for the hills.

Tim Kane

The Un-History of the Undead Part 2: Romero Zombies

"They're coming to get you Barbara."

October brings the ghoul out of me every year. My mind delves in the macabre (as usual), but during this month nobody stares. Flesh eaters and the living dead hardly warrant a second look.

In part 1 of this series, I examined the folklore behind the Voodoo zombie. Movies through the sixties all featured shambling, glassy eyed figures who were as menacing as a line at the DMV. Then, on on October 2, 1968, one movie changed everything.

Night of the Living Dead so shocked America, that Variety’s review included this scathing critique: “On no level is the unrelieved grossness of ‘Night of the Living Dead’ disguised by a feeble attempt at art of significance.” Ironically, George Romero had originally wanted to make an art-house movie, but quickly realized that an exploitation movie would be the best chance of making a profit.

What was it that had audiences of the late 60s so terrified? Up until then, monsters were typically people in rubber suits, and zombies had been relegated to strangling or bludgeoning their victims. Romero made his zombies crave human flesh. Critic Robert Ebert commented on the horror in the pages of Reader’s Digest: “This was ghouls eating people.” (The idea of consuming human flesh was borrowed from the mythology of the ghoul, who rips its victims apart and devours them whole.)

Romero’s zombies were completely divorced from the corps cadavers of the Caribbean. His creatures rose from the dead through a pseudo-scientific agent— A Venus probe that returns to Earth is hinted as the cause for the living dead. Rather than appearing docile and compliant, they were wildly aggressive, doing everything possible to tear people apart and eat their flesh. Finally, the zombie’s fate in Romero’s film was permanent. There was no zombie master to kill, and salt would not wake these creatures from their trance. These were truly the living dead. The additions Romero made to the zombie mythology have so dominated the genre that few movies made afterward strayed from his formula. (One notable exception is Wes Craven’s The Serpent and the Rainbow, made in 1987 from the book by Wade Davis.)

Romero never refers to his walking dead by the word zombie. Instead each of his films calls them the living dead. Despite this technicality, modern moviegoers made the connection. When Romero’s second film, Dawn of the Dead, was released in 1978, it was distributed internationally as Zombie (or Zombi).

An intriguing fact presents itself when titles of zombie films are viewed as a whole. Nearly every film title translated into English will use the word zombie, even if this was not in the original title. Take for example the 1980 Spanish and French production El lago de los muertos vivientes (literally, The Lake of the Living Dead). When this film was released in the United States, it took the title Zombie Lake. Interestingly, the word zombie hardly ever appears in titles for French, Spanish, or Italian films. (The notable exception to this is Lucio Fulci’s series of films titled Zombi 2, 3, 4 and 5. This may be due to Fulci releasing Zombi 2 as an unofficial sequel to Dawn of the Dead, which was titled Zombi.) These languages prefer to call the walking dead les morts vivants (French for the living dead) or simply los muertos (Spanish for the dead). Perhaps these counties were influenced by the George Romero films, or even that the word zombie has a stronger connection with the Americas, having its origin in the Caribbean.

So once again, let’s revisit that lowly creature on our front stoop. We expect our zombies to be rotten and hungry for flesh, not blank-faced and obedient. When the mythology leapt from one medium to another, folklore to film, it transformed. Certain elements were lost. Others were reinvented. Perhaps we’re not finished yet. As zombies enter new realms, the meanings of this word may further mutate to a point where we might not even recognize it.

By Tim Kane

I brought this article back from the dead in recognition of the digital release of Stories in the Ether. This has my story, Moth and Rust, which is my take on the zombie story that involves a weary husband who does his wife’s chores for years, only to drop dead. Yet, she still insists he work his butt off. No rest for the dead. Don’t worry, the young nephew has some ideas how to solve this undead problem.

Check out Stories in the Ether in Kindle or Lulu.

The Un-History of the Undead Part 1: Zombie Folklore

Don't bury me. I'm not dead!

Imagine that a zombie knocked on your door—a real, true to life (or death) zombie. You open the door and find a black man, looking every bit normal and alive, except for the listless expression and glazed eyes. No shambling carcass of rotting flesh and bones. It does not salivate for your intestines or brains.

The word zombie signifies a member of the undead—those creatures that come back to haunt the living. However, the image that comes to mind for this creature has been greatly shaped by popular media, such as literature and film. In the example above, the first description comes from folklore, while the second is influenced by fiction. How did our perception of these creatures change over the years?

Lafcadio Hearn introduced English speakers to the word zombie through his brief article, “The Country of the Comers-Back”, which appeared in Harper’s Magazine in 1889. (Although the OED dates zombie back to 1819, it was Hearn’s article that circulated widely enough to catch the public’s attention.) Hearn had traveled to Martinique in 1887 to study local customs and folklore for a series of articles on the Caribbean. It was there that he heard talk of zombies.

While it’s true that Hearn discovered the zombie, it was left to American adventurer William Seabrook to capitalize on it. Arriving in Haiti in 1928, he left no stone unturned in his quest for the corps cadavers (walking dead). This led to his autobiographical travelogue The Magic Island, which became an immediate bestseller.

A Haitian farmer by the name of Polynice introduced Seabrook to some real live zombies. The farmer brought the adventurer to the middle of a plantation and pointed out three zombies and the man controlling them. Seabrook went up to each of the zombies in turn, and found them to be little more than dumb brutes, working mindlessly. The eyes were dead, unfocused and vacant.

A central precept of Voodoo, a hybrid of African animism and Catholicism, is the possession of a body by the loa. The loa is usually translated as god or divinity, but it is closer to a genie, demon, or spirit. A person was believed to have two souls, the gros-bon-age (the big good angel), and the ti-bon-age (the little good angel). Each soul served a purpose. The gros-bon-age served to give the body life, while the ti-bon-age gave the person their personality. During a Voodoo ceremony, the loa would displace the ti-bon-age, and thus control the person’s body.

A Voodoo sorcerer, called a bòkò, had the ability to transform any person into a zombie. The bòkò would sprinkle a powder on the doorstep, and when the intended victim stepped on it, the magic entered through the soles of the feet. The person died soon after. Within three days the bòkò snuck into the graveyard, recited a magical chant, and called the victim’s name several times. The zombie had no choice but to answer and come out of the ground. The bòkò then beat the body with a whip to keep the ti-bon-age from returning. Often the bòkò kept the ti-bon-age in a jar. This was called a zombie astral, while the body that walked around, soulless, was called a zombie cadavre.

Every member of society shunned the zombie. This fear did not center on what the creature might do physically. Zombies were entirely docile. It was becoming a zombie that so horrified the islanders. This represented a return to slavery, as the creature must literally do whatever its master bids. Even after death, you might return to work in servitude. Canadian ethnobiologist Wade Davis spent several years researching the zombie powder. He commented, “Given the availability of cheap labor and the physical condition of the zombie, there is no economic incentive to create a force of indentured labor” (American Scientist, 1987).

In order to prevent loved ones from becoming zombies, Haitians took precautions similar to what the Serbians did for vampires. The body was often killed again, either by poison, strangulation, stabbing, a shot to the head or decapitation. Measures were also taken to prevent the zombie from rising. A wealthy family would bury their loved one in a solid tomb, while the less off would inter the body under a piece of heavy masonry. In order to prevent the zombie from answering this call, precautions were made. The mouth might be sewn up or tied shut using a strip of cloth fastened over the head and under the chin. Finally, a zombie might be distracted so that he might not hear the bòkò calling his name. There were two types of distractions. First the body would be buried with an eyeless needle so the corpse would spend eternity trying to thread it. The other method involved scattering seeds in the coffin, and the zombie was forced to count them all, one by one.

Becoming a zombie was not necessarily a permanent condition. There were several cases of people who died, only to be discovered many years later seemingly normal. One Clairvius Narcisse died in 1962 after complaining of sickness and coughing up blood. Eighteen years later his sister, Angelina, discovered him in the l’Estere marketplace. His speech was slurred and his muscles were weak, but he knew that he was no longer a zombie. Apparently, after being dug up and beaten by the bòkò, he had worked on a farm with other zombies. Only when one of the zombies killed the zombie master did they all become free.
Another way to cure an individual of the zombie curse was with salt. If a zombie consumed even a grain of salt, the fog that swirled around his brain would lift, and he would become filled with an unspeakable rage. He would first turn on the one who controlled him, killing the zombie master and destroying his property. The released zombie would then go in search of his tomb, claw at the dirt, and collapse onto his empty grave.

Seabrook’s 1929 publication of Magic Island touched off interest in the zombie and the Caribbean. Unlike Dracula or Frankenstein, the zombie wasn’t under copyright, since Seabrook was essentially reporting on fact. This led to the production of Universal’s 1932 White Zombie, with Bela Lugosi as the zombie master. (The film was preceded by a dreary play, Zombie, penned by Kenneth Webb. The production opened and closed in 1932 after only twenty performances.) The film cemented the Haitian myth of the zombie as a soulless body accepting any order. However the Voodoo version of the zombie would quickly be forgotten in the 60s when an independent filmmaker from Pittsburg got a hold of the concept.
Part 2 will examine what Romero has done to the zombie mythology.

By Tim Kane

I brought this article back from the dead in recognition of the digital release of Stories in the Ether. This has my story, Moth and Rust, which is my take on the zombie story that involves a weary husband who does his wife’s chores for years, only to drop dead. Yet, she still insists he work his butt off. No rest for the dead. Don’t worry, the young nephew has some ideas how to solve this undead problem.

Check out Stories in the Ether in Kindle or Lulu.