The best things about Bruno Mattei’s 1980 masterpiece “Hell of the Living Dead” are the grinning zombie extras, the super cool security team, the green fog, and the little kid zombie.
The film is uncontaminated by plot but does stay true to Romero zombie tradition — the creatures must be shot in the head.
And the government is next to useless, of course.
We’re talking egregious and dismissive treatment of natives, as articulated by sleazy Italian TV news guys and unwashed hippies. Old Jeep. Kangaroo. Terrorists in the American consulate, for no apparent reason.
Humungus control panel in the mysterious scientific facility, with lots of guys in lab coats pushing buttons and saying things like “Check the number five configuration.”
Crocodile vivisection. Bad babysitting. Native funeral, with dancing and singing.
Dancing and singing at night, with cheesy synthesizer accompaniment.
Lots of barfing.
Six breasts — two western, two native and bouncing, two National Geographic rejects.
Academy award nomination to Margit Evelyn Newton (as intrepid TV reporter Lia Rousseau), who takes her top off at a particularly critical moment in the non-existent plot.
And atrocious dubbing, which always adds something.
A hearty four coil endorsement for this fine example of bad filmmaking.