FILM REVIEW: POULTRYGEIST - NIGHT OF THE CHICKEN DEAD

by Hot Animal Machine - Jason Pollock

Source:

10.29.2006 - Original Article
*Note: This is a review of the Rough-Cut version of the movie shown on VHS, not the actual 35mm Final Print.

Troma - and its fearless leader Lloyd Kaufman - has been churning out its unique brand of exploitation cinema for thirty-five years.

Thirty. Five. Years.

I was pondering this reality not very long ago with a friend of mine (a massive film fan, and quite the historian to boot), and he said of Troma, “They fill a niche. And it’s a niche that some people don’t want filled - and it’s a niche that possibly no one would fill but Troma.”

And that could be true. But perhaps it’s true only because of the strange phenomenon of ghettofication that occurs when a film is associated with Troma. There are those who would dismiss Troma’s output as low-brow and low budge sight unseen.

But is that truly where the sidewalk ends?

Let’s look at Transgression-Era cinema - at Richard Kern, for example.

R. Kern’s output was designed to shock for shock’s sake - to mess with the perception of what is supposed to be seen on film. The rough production values, negligible narrative (unless the narrative was “Lydia Lunch is physically or emotionally violated”), and “off” performances (Lung Leg not withstanding - she’s sure to get the Lifetime Achievement Oscar someday, right?) don’t matter - Kern’s work is viewed by cineastes as “high art”. I’d venture that part of the reason his films are revered is that they are so crudely produced - those watching can convince themselves that it’s “outsider art” - and as such, it can be critiqued at arm’s length by film snobs who’ve convinced themselves they’re sophisticated enough to “get it”.  They can say it reveals something about the human condition - and it’s “inflammatory” and “vital” and blah-blah-fuckin’ blah…but they’re not stepping in it.

“Such breathtaking primitivism…”

There are those who would say I’m nuts for comparing the sociologially probing films of the Trasgressionists with the scatologically-charged films of the Tromaphiles - but they’ve never heard of Nick Zedd.

A Kern collaborator and peer (meaning “of the same group” and not “friend” - ‘cause If you’ve ever read Totem of the Depraved, you know “friend” isn’t the right word), Zedd is credited as one of the founders of the Cinema of Transgression - and he’s actually shown up in a Troma production (that would be Terror Firmer). 

In that gesture, I’d say that  a connection does exist.  There is a through line. An evolutionary step, if you will.  And the missing link is Poultrygeist: Night of the Chicken Dead.

Poultrygeist is, to my mind, the first film Troma has ever produced with a real sociopolitical pulse. Never mind that the film’s message is as subtle as the presentation of Scarlett Johansson’s babyfeeders at a Vanity Fair Oscars after-party - it doesn’t matter. The fact that there’s a message at all is pretty extraordinary.

Especially when the film is one wherein a corpse’s zombified finger breaks off and crawls into a teenage boy’s asshole while he humps his girlfriend in a cemetery…and the caretaker inhales the kid’s tightie-whities…whilst touching himself.

And that’s before the opening credits.

Poultrygeist begins with the cemetery-confined consummation of the relationship of our plucky protagonists (what is with all of the alliteration? It’s like the Ackermonster possesses me) Arby and Wendy. Yeah. “Arby” and “Wendy” (Jason Yachanin and Kate Graham)…

The kids are spending their last night together before Wendy heads off to college - but fear not - distance certainly won’t put a strain on their relationship…

One year later, they return to Tromaville - and Arby’s trip to the aforementioned cemetery reveals that not even Troma’s beloved burg is spared from the march of progress. Arby discovers that the graveyard has been replaced by a new “American Chicken Bunker” fast food joint. The Bunker’s proud patriarch, a Southern-fried blowhard named “General” Lee (Robin Watkins - channeling Randy Quaid’s Colonel Sanders…which is really just Randy Quaid’s Elijah Skuggs from Freaked) is on hand to kiss hands and shake babies at the exciting grand opening.

Of course, there are some Tromavillians disgusted enough by the development to protest this latest blight on our (fast food) nation - namely a group of liberal-minded student protesters called CLAM: College Lesbians Against Mega-Conglomerations. I don’t think I’m giving anything away to say that Arby is stunned to find his beloved Wendy in the crowd making out with Mickie (Allyson Sereboff) - the militant-feminist lesbian love she picked up in college (not that there’s anything wrong with that - it’s just nature taking its course…with rubbing).

To spite the Sapphic sisters of Solidarity (I’m tellin’ ya’ - Forry speaks through me…), Arby takes a job (as the Counter Girl) at the restaurant, and we’re intro’ed to the oddball crew; high-strung manager Denny (Joshua Olatunde), the flamboyant Paco Bell (Khalid Rivera) - who delights in adding his own “special sauce” to the menu items - the chicken-loving (literally) Carl Jr. (Caleb Emerson, in a performance reminiscent of Christopher Meloni’s fridge-humping Wet Hot American summer gig), and Humus (Rose Ghavami) who prays to Allah to save them all.

Save them? You betcha’ - since as soon as the doors open, the staff is warned by a crazy old man (that would be Ron Jeremy) that they are all doomed, for the Chicken Bunker has been built on ancient Tromahawk Indian Burial Ground…

Soon thereafter, the spirits of the Indians whose graves have been disturbed by the uncaring machinations of Corporate Amerikkka rise to posess the restaurant’s supply of Grade-A (or so) frozen chicken. Patrons eat the chicken and are soon stricken…ill. And when I say ill…

In a scene that simply must go down in history, Troma stalwart Joe Fleishaker, sickened via his consumption of tainted yard-trotter, completely destroys the Bunker’s Men’s room when he SHITS HIMSELF APART.

And we get to see it from the toilet’s point-of-view.

Would you believe me if I said it just gets worse from there?

The spirits make the leap from frozen fowl to human being - possessing the bodies of those who would consume them and beginning a murderous rampage, intent on reclaiming their land.

Did I mention it’s a musical?

Not “musical” like - “There’s even a musical number that comes way outta’ left field!”

No - I mean “musical” as in - “Dialogue is sung, and the lyrics propel the plot”.

The showstopper is a dreamy bedroom-bound Summer Lovin’ style romp where our young lovers feel out their feelings for one another. And another…

The musical component works really well, which is surprising on many levels. It’s kinda’ wild that a Troma production features performers talented enough to pull it off…it’s crazy that the lyrics are relevant to the tale (and witty as well)…and it’s stunning that you can hear any of it, since many of the Troma films of my youth featured audio that sounded as though it was recorded in an empty dumpster and mixed in a wind tunnel (I’m talking to you, Class of Nuke ‘Em High)…

Poltergeist and Night of the Living Dead and Ghosts of Mars and Evil Dead and Dead Alive and South Park and a “busket” of “extra-crispy” are tossed in a blender, liquefied, and sprayed at the audience for the entirety of the running time. The film doesn’t slow down to take its broad-stroke swipes at corporate culture, fast-food’s negative impact on our society, post-9/11 racism, irresponsible media antics, and self-serving activism - it manages to do so with unyielding velocity, making its points whilst juggling songs and splatter and a twelve-year-old’s bathroom humor and creaky Borscht Belt shtick.

Kaufman’s whips us about with Sam Raimi-inspired speed, the cutting is crisp, and the performances are winking and fun. Yachanin’s work seems like an extended audition for George Lucas’s “Young Alvy Singer Chronicles”. He gets the part. His Arby is alternately neurotic, self-loathing, and contemptuous of just about everything around him - he just has this knack for going utterly dim-witted sometimes (and in a strangely-constructed fantasy(?) sequence - it doesn’t seem like he’s going to get any brighter with age). It’s a credit to Yachanin’s performance that he makes you forget you wanted to smack his character a few seconds ago…every five minutes.

I’ll probably get shit for this, as a great many Tromettes were then or are now “Scream Queens” with actual fan followings…but I’m just not into it. Most of the chicks who pop up and drop trou in Troma films are, to my mind, not terribly compelling. Sorry - not my thing…

…so it’s absolutely INSANE for me to say that Kate Graham needs to be in more movies immediately. She sings, she dances, she’s spunky, she’s cute-headed - she’s like a gore-splattered Disney Princess. For the first time in the company’s history, I’m “all up ons” a Tromette.

The two leads really work, and the supporting cast plays one note - but it’s just the note they need to play. Robin Watkins “General” is a larger-than-life pseudo folk-hero mascot/asswipe, and he chews more scenery than chicken. Olatunde plays manager Denny like he’s Frank McRae in 48 Hours, Sereboff (who looks very much like she could beat your ass. And mine. Simultaneously) handles her command of CLAM with sanctimonious bitchiness, Rose Ghavami as Humus is all body language beneath the burqa - and the smartest person in the room (and if a “cartoon” pissed Muslims off enough to set fire to an embassy or three, I wonder what kind of groovy times the character of Humus courts?), and Khalid Rivera succeeds where so many performers before him have failed - he makes you believe he is a flamingly-homosexual talking barbecue chicken sandwich.

The film reminds me of (Penn and Teller show) “Bullshit!” and Parker and Stone’s Team America in its willingness to attack ignorance on the Left and Right with equal aplomb, painting a picture of a world where lobbyists and protesters and corporate CEOs are pretty much the same monster - and everybody else is too powerless to do anything about it…or too stupid to care.

This is, without a doubt, the best film Troma’s ever produced, and certainly Lloyd Kaufman’s most accomplished. If it sounds like a backhanded compliment, it shouldn’t. Poultrygeist: Night of the Chicken Dead is juvenile, often strained, hampered by its budget, and excessively cheesy. It’s also smart, smart-assed, ambitious, hilarious…

…and transgressive. It messes with the perception of what is supposed to be seen on film, and - in perhaps a first for a Troma Team Release - it does so with a slightly nobler goal than to just make sweet cake.

Amid rumors of Troma’s impending demise, Lloyd Kaufman has presented us with just cause to hope that’s not the case. Poultrygeist redefines what Troma is capable of as a studio, while delivering what people who love Troma have come to expect: blood, breasts, beasts, various brands of “fu” (in this case, “Bird Fu”…yeah, I suck), and kitsch out the ass.

And once you see it - you’ll all stop poisoning yourselves with fast food, right…?

- Jason Pollock