Main cast: Timothy Balme (Lionel Cosgrove), Diana Peñalver (Paquita María Sánchez), Elizabeth Moody (Vera Cosgrove), Ian Watkin (Uncle Les), Stuart Devenie (Father McGruder), Brenda Kendall (Nurse McTavish), and Jed Brophy (Void)
Director: Peter Jackson

Before Peter Jackson became the ringmaster of Middle-earth, he was knee-deep in the muck and mire of low-budget horror flicks. This Kiwi madman cut his teeth on films like Bad Taste, where he played both director and alien-fighting hero, and Meet the Feebles, a puppet extravaganza that makes the Muppets look like Sunday school teachers. Mr Jackson’s early work was a beautiful cocktail of gore, humor, and batshit insanity that set the stage for his magnum opus of carnage.

Enter Dead Alive, a film made on a budget that probably wouldn’t cover craft services for the Shire. This splatter-fest initially flopped harder than a zombie falling off a cliff, but like any good undead creature, it refused to stay buried. Word of mouth spread faster than a rat monkey virus, and soon this film was infecting late-night screenings and video stores everywhere. It’s the little flesh-eating engine that could, folks!

The plot? Oh, it’s a tale as old as time: boy meets girl, boy’s mother gets bitten by rat monkey, boy’s mother turns into zombie, boy has to stop zombie apocalypse while trying to get laid. You know, your typical Tuesday.

Our hero Lionel Cosgrove must balance his budding romance with the lovely Paquita while keeping his zombified mum under wraps (literally, at one point). It’s like Romeo and Juliet meets Night of the Living Dead, with a dash of Oedipus complex thrown in for good measure.

Now, let’s talk gore. If you’re the kind of person who thinks The Walking Dead is too tame, Dead Alive is your holy grail. This film doesn’t just push the envelope; it shreds it, purees it, and force-feeds it to you through a funnel. We’re talking lawnmowers turned into people-mowers, zombies being punched through the head, and a climax that literally drowns the characters in gallons of blood and viscera. It’s so over-the-top that it loops back around to hilarious. Gorehounds, rejoice! This is your Citizen Kane.

But it’s not all just mindless splatter. The cast manages to shine even when covered in fake blood and entrails. Timothy Balme as Lionel is the perfect blend of hapless and heroic, like if Ash from Evil Dead was raised by June Cleaver. Diana Peñalver’s Paquita is a feisty love interest who can swing a mean machete. But the real scene-stealer is Elizabeth Moody as Lionel’s mum. Her transformation from overbearing matriarch to flesh-eating monster is a masterclass in physical comedy and grotesque makeup effects. And let’s not forget the Kung Fu priest who “kicks ass for the Lord!”–a cameo so iconic it should be studied in film schools.

Now, let’s sink our teeth into the real meat of the matter: those gristly practical effects. In an age before CGI took over, Dead Alive stands as a testament to the artistry of hands-on gore. These effects aren’t just good; they’re so deliciously disgusting you can almost smell them through the screen.

Take, for instance, the infamous custard scene. When a zombie’s innards start bubbling out like the world’s most revolting dessert, you’ll swear off pudding for life. The pus-filled boils that erupt on infected characters are so realistically nasty, you’ll want to pop them yourself (don’t, seriously).

But the pièce de résistance has to be the lawnmower massacre. Picture this: our hero Lionel, armed with nothing but a push mower, mowing down a horde of the undead. The resulting fountain of blood, guts, and dismembered limbs is a symphony of silicone and corn syrup that would make Tom Savini weep with joy.

And let’s not forget the mutant baby – a horrifying puppet that manages to be both hilarious and nightmare-inducing. Its grotesque features and jerky movements are a masterclass in practical animatronics.

These effects aren’t just gross-out gags; they’re works of art. Each splatter of blood, each dangling eyeball, each exposed rib cage is crafted with loving care. It’s like watching Jackson and his effects team gleefully push the boundaries of good taste, armed with nothing but latex, fake blood, and an unhealthy imagination.

In a world of slick digital effects, Dead Alive reminds us of the visceral impact of practical gore. It’s tangible, it’s excessive, and it’s glorious. This film doesn’t just show you gore; it rubs your face in it and asks, “Had enough yet?” And if you’re anything like me, your answer will always be, “More, please!”