Sex Dwarf, Isn’t It Nice? BURIAL GROUND Reviewed

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BD. Regions A/B/C. Severin. Unrated.

Not content with their blockbusting Doctor Butcher / Zombi Holocaust double disc set, Severin immediately plunge back even further into the delirious depths of zucchini zombie territory with this notorious 1980 offering from cut-price sleaze specialist Andrea Bianchi. “Is Burial Ground as bad as it’s cracked up to be?” David (Reprobate) Flint was moved to ask, when reviewing this release. My answer would have to be in the affirmative, though I’d follow it up with another question, namely: “But is that necessarily a bad thing?”

Also known as Zombie 3, Zombi Horror and Nights Of Terror, this one attempts to take a leaf from the occult tomes of Lucio Fulci, substituting for the Books of Eibon and Enoch another slice or arcane lore, “The Profecy (sic) Of The Black Spider.” Never heard of it? Then allow me to quote a particularly chilling passage: “The Earth shall tremble. Graves shall open. They shall come among the living as messengers of death and there shall be the nigths of terror…” You heard me. Nigths!

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A nigth of terror… last nigth in Frascati.

Now I hate to be nigth-picking, but in the light of all these ridiculous spelling errors, it’s difficult to put too much faith in this here “profecy”. Nevertheless, as the film opens, it’s being pored over by one Professor Ayer. Surely that’s not the noted logical positivist, A. J. Ayer? Well no, in fact this guy’s hirsute appearance suggests he’s about to pack in his studies of ancient Etruscan ritual magic and join Z Z Top.

Before strapping on a furry pink guitar, however, he nips out to the ancient Etruscan amphitheatre and catacombs that conveniently seem to comprise the back garden of his villa, muttering: “It’s incredible… I’m the only one who knows!” (don’t worry viewers, you’ll soon be in on the whole risible secret, too.) Chipping away with a hammer down in the vaults, he disturbs several dough-faced undead who rise from their coffins to surround him. “No… I’m your friend!” he blubbers, before the hungry deadsters get stuck into him. Nice try, Rasputin, but no coconut. zombies have been known to responds unfavourably to fire and a shot in the head is almost invariably efficacious… but an appeal to their finer fraternal feelings? Forget it!

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No sooner have his innards slid down their throats than a bunch of the Prof’s swinging pals turn up at the villa for a soapy weekend of bickering, making out (“You’re getting a rise from me… but it’s nothing to do with money!”) and knocking back the ol’ J&B (cue the mother of all product placement shots.) Prominent among them are Maria Angela Giordano (a refrigerated torso in Mario Landi’s Giallo In Venice, victim of a flying snot-rag attack in Michele Soavi’s The Sect and violated by a psychokinetically-guided poker in Mario Landi’s Patrick’s Still Alive, though undoubtedly her finest hour of scuzzy  outrage occurs in this one), Gianluigi Chirizzi and Roberto Caporali (who teamed up again in Ferdinando Baldi’s Night Train Murders knock-off, Terror Express), Simone Mattioli (on whom more later) and, keeping up the cheesecake quotient, Karen Well and Antonella Antinori.

Special mention, of course, must be made to Peter Bark, who plays Giordano’s son Michael. Although many have characterised Giovanni Frezza (“Bob” from Fulci’s House By The Cemetery) as the weirdest looking kid ever set loose in a zombie film (European Trash Cinema’s Craig Ledbetter memorably designated him “the pig faced lad”), anyone who’s ever witnessed Bianchi’s film will beg to differ. Film scholars debated this unique individual’s exact status long and hard before the “middle aged dwarf” theory was conclusively confirmed. What’s indisputable is that his mutated appearance is frankly more frightening than any of Gino de Rossi’s misfiring zombie make-ups in this filmic fiasco.

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He’s a perceptive little bugger, though: “Mama… this rag smells of death!” he whines at one point. “I’ve always been terrified of the dead” chips in one of his fellow house mates, who’s predictably mortified when scores of deceased folks start ambling around the grounds (to the accompaniment of those obligatory whooping and farting synthesiser sounds, which alternate on Burial Ground’s OST with sub Popol Vuh ambient atmospherics and, over the titles, a passable  knock off of Herbie Hancock’s main Blow Up theme) , rudely interrupting various heavy petting couples in the garden (“You look just like a whore… but I like that in a girl!”)

Besieged inside the villa by ravenous zombies who’ve tooled up with various household and gardening implements, our heroes naturally scorn any idea of sticking together, wandering off instead to suffer their miscellaneous fates (one clumsily cribbed from Zombie Flesh Eaters’ most notorious moment, a pane of glass substituting for that wooden splinter.) Meanwhile mutated Mike, whose Oedipal resentment of Giordano’s new boyfriend has already been made clear, responds a little over enthusiastically when comforted and cuddled by his mom… he starts touching her up (!) so she has to slap him down.  “What’s wrong? I’m your son!” wails the brat, running away to his well-deserved dinner date with the undead (Giordano’s hysterical reaction to the discovery of Michael’s chewed-up cadaver is absolutely priceless.)

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Like Professor Ayer before them, characters continually and misguidedly attempt to mount a constructive dialogue with the shambling corpses instead of just reaching for the nearest Uzi, consequently placing themselves in continuous peril. Now, a certain measure of suspense-generating recklessness is a prerequisite in most horror movies, but get this for sheer biscuit-taking stupidity: “”They move so slowly we can easily avoid them…” announces one dunce as he unboards the windows, “… so we might as well let them in!” Incredibly, the others go along with this suggestion, resulting in the inevitable maggot-faced mayhem as the Etruscan dead dudes duly run riot.

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Even the zombified Prof returns to join in the intestinal barbecue. Offended by this brazen violation of the rules of hospitality, the remaining three survivors finally vacate the villa and, after an interlude with a chapter of zombie monks, finally come to grief in a cellar workshop. As her friends are gored and buzz-sawed, Giordano is confronted by Zombie MIchael, whom she encourages to suckle at her breast. There can’t be too many people reading this review who don’t already know what happens next… and even if you’ve already seen it, you could be forgiven for not believing it.

Severin’s presentation of the main feature looks sharper and richer than 88’s equivalent UK release and although it lacks the boy genius commentary track that distinguished the latter, there’s ample compensation to be found in the raft of bonus materials on offer. Along with the inevitable trailer, you get interviews with Giordano and her love interest / producer of this and countless other sleaze epics, Gabriele Crisanti…  Simone Mattioli talks about the film, his attitude towards which is neatly encapsulated by the title of his featurette (“Just For The Money”) … in “Villa Parisi – Legacy Of Terror” a scholarly Andrew Marr lookey-likey gives us a guided tour around the Frascati villa, once occupied by Napoleon’s sister, where Burial Ground was shot… as, it turns out, were a host of other notable Italian genre efforts, including Mario Caiano’s Nightmare Castle (1965), Mino Guerrini’s The Third Eye (1966), Mario Bava’s Hatchet For The Honeymoon (1970) and Twitch Of The Death Nerve (1971), the Morrissey / Margheriti Blood For Dracula (1974) and another Crisanti production, Mario Landi’s characteristically crackpot Patrick’s Still Alive (1980)… the villa is still used today to film Downton Abbey-type productions for Italian TV. On many discs this would be the stand out extra, but here it’s trumped by “Peter Still Lives”, in which the near-mythical Mr Bark answers questions from his adoring fans after a recent Roman screening of Burial Ground, somewhat creepily offering to bite the breasts of girls in the audience and plugging his upcoming autobiography… now whatever happened to that?

Adding a further weird twist to a cinematic saga that didn’t really need one is a story that’s mentioned in a couple of the bonus features… if you thought that gore FX Hall Of Famer Gino De Rossi had a bad day (or several) on Burial Ground, consider that his assistant Mauro Gavazzi, shortly after his stint on this film, was jailed for the fatal and apparently random stabbing of a passer-by.

Severin’s Burial Ground comes with reversible sleeve options and a slip-case boasting impressive, specially commissioned new art work. Their Nights Of Terror Bundle further comprises a T-shirt, badge and poster, together with a shot glass boasting Mr Bark’s distinctive image… essential accessories for the next time you throw a sex party in a historic Italian villa!

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Somebody… anybody… please… stop this madness now!

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