Review of: Dellamorte Dellamore—AKA Cemetery Man (1994)

The mid-00s were a great time to be a zombie fan. Following the tremendous success of 28 Days Later in 2002, there was a zombie boom. Not only were there a ton of decent to great mainstream domestic releases—Dawn of the Dead, Land of the Dead, Shaun of the Dead—but, thanks to some excellent boutique DVD labels, like Tartan, Blue Underground, and Media Blasters, there was also a spike in great zombie flicks, new and old, from overseas on DVD. For the first time, even in my small-town local video store, you could easily find anything from Bio Zombie to Zombi.

It was during this “boom” that I first found and fell in love with Michele Soavi’s masterpiece—I don’t use this term lightly; this is his best film, and it’s not even close—Dellamorte Dellamore. I picked it up from the local video store, watched it a few times, returned it, and set out to buy a copy, only to find it was already out of print. At least in the US, it would remain that way until Severin’s newly remastered 4k release, available as of Black Friday, 2023.

The film tells the story of Francesco Dellamorte. Our oddly named hero—his last name translates to “Of Death”—is the groundskeeper at the Buffalora Cemetery. He and his mentally challenged assistant Gnaghi (expertly played by eccentric, chubby French skinhead François Hadji-Lazaroand) live in the cemetery where they work. In addition to their daily duties, the par must occasionally retire the odd patron who has returned from the dead.

As the film begins, we get a bit of exposition through a phone conversation between our protagonist and a man named Franco. We learn the source of this undead invasion is unknown and that most zombies return seven days after their death—a rule that the film plays fast and loose with as time passes. Through this conversation, we also get a quick example of the film’s sense of humor, as Dellamorte dispatches a zombie—a Returner, as Dellamorte calls them—mid-conversation.

As another example, in an early scene, after Dellamorte tells us his name, he reflects on how silly it sounds and thinks of changing it. Since he has just told us that his last name means “of death” in Italian, we assume that that is what he is referencing. Instead, he tells us he is considering changing his name to Andre—Andre of Death. There is no wink, no nudge, and no indication that this is supposed to be funny. Is it supposed to be funny? Fuck, I don’t even know anymore.

This humor permeates the film, and it’s always played entirely straight—no matter how absurd things get. It often has that “unintentionally funny” feel that Italian horror sometimes has, but it’s always done with tongue firmly in cheek.

Anyway, back to the narrative. The next day, Dellamorte meets a young widow—played by the stunning Anna Falchi—who is at the cemetery for the funeral of her elderly husband. Dellamorte, ladies man that he is, approaches the woman and predictably faceplants on approach—she is the grieving widow, after all. Soon, though, he wins her over when he shows her the cemetery’s ossuary—as we all know, young, beautiful women love nothing more than a good ossuary—and the couple consecrate their new love on the grave of the recently deceased.

Predictably, this is the exact moment hubby decides to return from the grave, and soon “She” is dead—and then not dead, and then dead again. Her death sends Dellamorte into a spiral—the events of which include a pair of mass shootings, the burning of an apartment building, and an ambiguous but beautiful ending.

This is probably a good time to mention that while this is ostensibly a zombie film, if you want a linear plot with morally unambiguous characters, this is probably not the film for you. It’s unlike anything else I’ve seen, and it was a pretty confusing first-watch. The ambiguous nature of its humor, along with some pitch-black subject matter and a narrative that goes everywhere except for the places you expect, make for a singularly beautiful, absurd, but often confounding experience.

The first time I saw this, I expected something like Evil Dead or Army of Darkness. The movie will likely disappoint you if this is what you are looking for—it’s more like Evil Dead’s big-tidy goth girlfriend after a long tenure at art school. It’s as inspired by fine art and cinema as anything in the horror genre. It also plays with and subverts the tropes and conventions of Italian horror cinema. It’s weird, sexy, and more than a little disturbing, and you can’t take anything at face value—to paraphrase Uncle Marty, this is fucking cinema.

There is a linear narrative, though it’s unconventional, but this is really—to me—a movie you experience more than watch. Everything has a gothic elegance, from the densely packed tombstones to a flooded crypt—it should be unsettling, and it is, but it’s also beautiful. Shots are orderly and tightly choreographed.

This all changes when we leave the “comfort” of the cemetery. For example, when filming in town, Soavi eschews the use of Steadicam, and instead, the cameraman is wheeled around on a hand truck. The effect is far removed from the tight shots and beautiful framing of the scenes filmed within the cemetery—an obvious visual indicator that our characters are uncomfortable in their surroundings. It adds significantly to the surrealism. If you aren’t paying attention, it can start to feel very disjointed, but the message here is pretty simple—in Dellamorte’s world, there is beauty in death, but there is only hate and uncomfortability in life.

With all that out of the way, how’s the Severin release? In a word, it’s fantastic. This transfer, taken from the Cinecittà’s—the studio which initially produced the film—original negative and approved by Soavi, looks incredible. The improved visual fidelity, as compared to the Anchor Bay release, makes this look like a new film. Nighttime scenes have crisp blacks, with no artifacts that I have noticed. The will-o-the-wisp scene looks breathtaking—though, if you look close, you can see the filament. The clarity of the zombie effects makes them look so much better. Every root, every puff of dust from an exploding head is visible, even on the BD.

I know there are complaints online about the price tag on this one, but for me, it’s well worth it. The film is that good, and Severin has pulled no punches with transfer and packaging. In addition to the film, you get the Director’s commentary and interviews with Soavi, Falchi, and Everett; there’s also an entire disc of interviews with the crew, including composer Riccardo Biseo and set Designer Antonello Geleng. Everett is my favorite of these interviews; he seems like such a nice guy with a deep love of the film and the source material. The interview with Soavi is also excellent—discussing the film’s look, the origin of the source material, and the improvised ending, among other things. There’s also a 4th disc containing the OST and a 40-page booklet.

This is, without a doubt, one of my most anticipated releases of all time, and as a long-time fan of the film, I couldn’t be happier with the care and attention that Severin put into this one. If you’re reading this and it’s still available, I’d suggest picking it up as soon as possible. If history is any indicator, it may not be around for long. Though, I genuinely hope this release gives this gem of Italian cinema a new chance to shine.