Director Todd Brunswick and writer John Kerfoot deserve their props for keeping the entire ordeal from the precarious brink of utter rubbish, though just barely. The murder and mayhem scenes are more effective than they deserve to be, in the smattering of instances when they actually occur. The effects, both in the make-up and practical death departments, are impressive considering the budget restrictions. Meanwhile, biker zombies run amok, slaughtering at will. They’re more concerned with the intentions of Courtney’s suitors than actual law enforcement. Or, we assume that’s what is assumed, since not even the local police officers (Dave Cunningham, Gabrielle Gamache) pay any mind to the murders going on around them. When Ken, after escaping the spiteful ruffians on a motorcycle chase that barely rises above a reasonable speed, runs into the evil gang, it is assumed that he is another victim. The purpose of the decapitated noggins is never fully explained. They thrill kill mostly, collecting heads of their victims in service to their dark lord.
The zombies seem bent on brutal and murderous anarchy, as opposed to eating brains and the usual undead tomfoolery. I don’t believe this is entirely in ways intended upon by the film makers, but great stuff nonetheless. (oh yes, it exists) This runs him afoul of local bikers, one of whom (Joshua Allan) struck out with Courtney on a prior date in which he brandished the most brilliantly inept come-on line in film history, after unzipping his fly once she refuses to kiss him: “You think this hog is gonna’ smoke itself?” It’s great stuff at times. New kid in town Ken (Tyrus Woodson) befriends cutie Courtney (Jillian Buckshaw) immediately upon moving to Gross Pointe from Hell, Michigan. At one point later on, it possesses a martial arts expert and assassin to fulfill its horde. The vengeful spirit wisely chooses the most deplorable human beings it can find, then sneaks up on them and zaps them with a poorly animated but colorful energy ball oddly reminiscent of the female alien banging Steve Guttenberg in “Cocoon.” It begins by transforming a rapist in an alley after he overtakes an innocent bar patron. The Angry Voice Over (I didn’t catch the actual credit, nor do I wish to) employs his minions in a fashion that reminded me so much of corny 80’s sci-fi thrillers (“Galaxy of Terror” and “Lifeforce” being two of my faves), it all started to grown on me once again. I wonder if anyone in Detroit would even notice? We are then introduced to the true villain of the piece, a disembodied and profane voice that has returned to “The D” to assemble an army of zombies and carry out its maniacal plot to transform the city into a living Hell. Unfortunately, that two minutes stretches out into a small eternity at around the twelve-second mark. Though an insane amount of time is spent upon characters and dialogue more apropos of an “After School Special” from the days of yore, “BZFD” does tend to think a bit more outside the box than the standard zombie flick. The opening credits, a slow and lusty crawl about a chromed-out tankslapper (for those of you not hip to the lingo, I have no clue what that means either), try to be so simultaneously artful and foreboding, you’ll want to enjoy it. However, the same can easily be said for “Ford Fairlane,” and yet it still called out to me like a siren from my Netflix queue.
Created on a budget approximating the change I lost to my sofa cushions last night when I passed out whilst watching “The Adventures of Ford Fairlane,” this is one poor example of proper film making. After all, with a title like this current offering, one finds it tough to even pretend to foster expectations going in, which “BZFD” definitely has in its favor. I refuse to bring an overly favorable comportment to a viewing merely because the movie is locally produced. That merits note to your average country bumpkin, which I am at heart.įret not, friends. I live just up the street from where some of this was filmed. Thumbing its nose contrarily at its own title, “‘Biker Zombies From Detroit” (“BZFD” until the final paragraph) is set in the suburb of Grosse Pointe, yet shot in every surrounding city that isn’t Grosse Pointe. It’s an exciting prospect, to view a film from your neck of the woods when your particular neck isn’t a common stomping ground for motion pictures.
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