Written by: William Selby, David S. Freeman, Devorah Cutler, and Devin Frazer
Directed by: John Saxon
Starring: Dennis Cole, Anthony Franciosa, and John Saxon
In the course of his 60-year career, John Saxon has become a cult icon with over 200 credits to his name, some of which have positioned him at crucial points in horror history. His appearances in Bava’s The Girl Who Knew Too Much and Argento’s Tenebrae put him in bookending movies for the giallo movement, while taking a role in Black Christmas also placed him at the forefront of the North American slasher genre. In an interesting twist of fate, he’d return there a decade later when Wes Craven tapped him to be one of Freddy Krueger’s nemeses on Elm Street, a role he’d reprise all the way up to New Nightmare in 1994, meaning Saxon effectively hitched a ride with the slasher genre from its inception to its deconstruction, an incredible arc that probably deserves more reverence.
But that’s for another time because today we’re here to focus on Zombie Death House, the lone, not-so-illustrious movie that Saxon directed during his illustrious career. It’s a movie that speaks to the flip side of Saxon’s career, which also saw him star in several…well, let’s just call them lesser films that found him slumming in various schlock projects. I can only assume he grew tired of doing so on other filmmakers’ behalf, prompting him to jump into the director’s chair himself to helm this dull, derivative entry to the weird, late-80s cycle of prison-themed horror movies, a feast or famine deal if there ever was one: for every Shocker or Prison, there’s a bunch of forgettable junk like Zombie Death House, which crossbreeds this movement with the era’s flagging preoccupation with zombies.
It might have the most belabored set-up imaginable in arriving at that point, though. For about 20 minutes or so, Zombie Death House is actually a low-rent mob movie, wherein Vietnam vet Derek Keillor (Dennis Cole) finds himself working as an chauffeur for mafia boss Vic Moretti (Anthony Franciosa). He’s a hood with a heart of gold though, so he lets a goon off the hook, drawing the ire of his boss; however, it’s nothing compared to when Moretti discovers Derek has been sleeping with his trophy wife. Seeking swift vengeance, he murders the girl and frames Derek for the murder, who is put on death row in a seedy, out-of-the-way prison supervised by rogue government agent Colonel Burgess (Saxon). Because the prison houses the type of scum who won’t be missed by anyone, Burgess sees it as the perfect petri dish for an experiment to create super soldiers for the military. Naturally, it backfires when his synthetic virus turns its hosts into bloodthirsty savages, leading to an unholy prison riot.
Whenever these zombies (or zombie-like maniacs) are on-screen ripping through flesh, Zombie Death House is tolerable; unfortunately, however, that doesn’t happen nearly enough, meaning most of the film is pretty dreadful. At its (very brief) best, it’s vaguely reminiscent of the late-era Italian zombie wave, at least in the sense that it’s unabashed schlock, featuring with grungy, meatball-faced flesh-eaters and assorted sleaze. Saxon was obviously no stranger to this z-movie scene by this point, so he was keenly aware that these things thrive on nonsense. Zombie Death House also has its moments in this regard: a man is decapitated via sleeper hold, a fever dream allows for maybe the most gratuitous nudity imaginable, and the climax involves a kid on a skateboard escorting our heroes to safety because of course it does. It’s all very silly, and I haven’t even mentioned a ridiculous moment involving a zombie lunch lady hoarding her Twinkies.
But again, it’s unfortunate that this represents most of the loopy intrigue here, as these moments are scattered about like oases amidst the otherwise barren desert that is Zombie Death House. At its worst, it insists on returning to the mob movie stuff, particularly Derek’s quest for vengeance inside the prison. In a remarkably convenient turn of events, he finds himself incarcerated right alongside Moretti’s brother Frankie (Frank Sarcinello Jr.), allowing him to take advantage of the riot by hatching an elaborate revenge plot that tricks Vic into visiting the zombie-infested prison. Complications arise, of course, and the film very much insists that you give a shit about it, as if Dennis Cole doesn’t have the charisma of a cheese sandwich. You’re left waiting for those bonkers moments to return you to your regularly-scheduled schlock programming as you watch Cole earnestly bumble through the motions, creating the pretense of things like plot and character development when you all you really want to see is zombies disemboweling, well, everyone.
To his credit, Saxon lands firmly at the top of that list as Burgess, a total lunatic whose motivations don’t even manage to make much sense. By the end of the film, he’s reduced to spouting outrageous nonsense in an effort to cover up the atrocity he’s perpetrated here. While it’s never going to rank as one of Saxon’s most memorable roles, it’s certainly among the best here, as he, Franciosa, and Sarcinello are the only performers that are on the right wavelength for something like Zombie Death House, a film that needs to fill up its dirtbag quotient post haste. This trio does what they can to stoop down to correct, scummy levels, but it’s not nearly enough to keep it consistently interesting. Of course, Saxon shoulders some of this blame as director, and a more damning review might note that it’s obvious why this is his lone directorial feature. However, it’s not exactly that simple, either, as writer William Selby’s account of the film reveals a whirlwind production: in short, producer Nick Marino was looking to make the leap from porn to “legit” features, and commissioned the film’s trio of writers to produce a script within 9 days. His only real mandate? Include a mafia subplot because his favorite film was The Godfather.
And that, friends, is how you wind up with a zombie movie that’s also a mob movie, with neither genre being well represented at all. You want to admire the sheer carnage on display: between an early car stunt and a climactic explosion, it’s clear there was some level of ambition here, even if was to deliver the cheapest of cheap thrills. But there isn’t even enough of those to spread around, leaving you with a movie that’s more a curiosity than anything interesting, let alone essential. Zombie Death House will always be remembered as the one movie John Saxon directed; there are worse fates, of course, because without that bit of trivia, I have to imagine it wouldn’t even be remembered at all.
