Movie Review: Corpses

I was lying in bed last night, captivated by a late night call-in quiz show. One hosted by two buxom ladies, each crying out for the eager voyeurs in TV audience land to call in and attempt an answer to a rather arcane riddle concerning red words in a segment of text. I sprawled enthralled at this piece of televisual bribery (‘watch us, we’ll give you money’), punctuating the void of my mind with the occasional chuckle at people repeating numeric guesses already uttered to no success by other callers. How such triviality as being able to think to oneself, “that individual, Raymond from Essex, is proposing seven as a solution, but I know full well that it is not that as both Ian from Tyneside and Sally from Cardiff guessed that one to no avail” — how it bolsters a man’s esteem in ways that only the great pride at knowing nothing about rugby league can compete with.  

It was while sluggishly gripping the wheels of this vertical stance that I heard a faint cry from the DVD player. Its whispers backstroked all the way to my auditories, and the subsequent neural impulses imparted to me a great knowledge. The murmurs were those of Jeff Fahey, fired out of the LED display like B-movie cruise missiles. They said, “Go and see the movie.” But what movie? “Why, Corpses, of course,” answers the delectable Jeff, seated safely in the Behind the Scenes featurette on the Corpses DVD. And so it was, and so I did. 

This time, the locomotive of Fahey has pulled up at the station marked ‘low-budget, indie horror.’ It’s a station that is stopped upon frequently, but whose amenities and staff aptitude varies with the fluctuating regularity of grindcore fed through an oscilloscope. How the disappointment levers are yanked with the irritating vivacity of a young child in such cinematic outcroppings as Darkhunters. Not even the heralded one’s presence could fish that drowning horror charade from its murky depths. But thank the good azure irises of Fahey that Corpses got its swimming certificate as a sprightly collection of raw footage lumbering on a hard drive a long time ago. 

Article Author: Aaron Fleming

Aaron Fleming is a waster and an idler - prone to pomposity - forever enchanted by the filmic and the sonic, words and the aesthetic - given to the most ludicrous appraisal of Culture's finest icons and compositions. He resides in London.

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