Poor Zombos. Another birthday has come and gone, another year much older. He is now at that nonretractable age where the over-the-hill birthday cards are no longer funny no matter how many humanized monkeys, sun-glassed grandmas, scantily-clad woman, and you're-not-over-the-hill jokes grace them. The poor fellow is tumbling down that hill at this point.
Worse yet, his birthday cards contain no crisp currency whose presence is a clear notice of future-blessed youthfulness. There is no surer sign of maturity and pending fossilization than the absence of crisp greenbacks or that freshly-inked check nestled in the fold of your birthday card.
He has entered into that past-tense territory, a somewhat foggy land of blurred memories and time-diluted dreams where his continual verbal replays of the good old days replace the tasks and hopes of the here and now - and bore everyone around him to death.
Zimba valiantly tried to cheer him up and was partially successful when she flipped the TV channels to come upon King Kong Lives! What a bizarre film. I must make a note to see if Mystery Science Theater did a presentation on it. Zombos was practically on the floor by the time the big operation scene came along with Linda Hamilton wielding Land of the Giants-sized surgical instruments to perform open-heart surgery on the ailing ape. When they craned in the mechanical heart the size of a Smart Fortwo car, even Zimba was rolling on the floor in tears.
Zombos was soon back to his doldrums when the film ended, so I thought I would try and cheer him up. I am like that sometimes. I ventured into his closet, looking for something that would put a smile on his face. Yes! This would do it certainly; a bittersweet Don Coscarelli and Joe Lansdale tale of a mummy, an old Elvis Presley, and an older John F. Kennedy, played against the backdrop of fading vitality, unfulfilled dreams, and the inevitable pause before that big sleep. This would certainly cheer him up.
Bubba Ho-Tep is not a great film, but a damn good one. The superb performances by Bruce Campbell as the real Elvis Presley and Ossie Davis as a maybe JFK (as told by him, he was dyed black after the assassination incident), elevate this quirky mojo horror tale to an emotionally touching experience. The twangy guitar and acoustic drums score by Brian Tyler is more than above average for a B-movie and appropriately sets a bittersweet mood full of despair one moment and glory to damnation the next.