Living Dead Girl / La Morte Vivant (Jean Rollin, 1982)

“I’m not a goddamn photographer, I’m an actress,” screams American tourist Barbara (Carina Barone) at her husband Greg (Mike Marshall). Apparently he’s as unconvinced as the audience. It’s easier to believe that chemical waste could revive a corpse than to buy that any of the players in Jean Rollin’s Living Dead Girl have studied the art of acting.

When a couple of disreputable fellows decide to rob graves in the crypt where they store their chemical waste, a ill-timed earthquake tips over a barrel, unleashing gas that brings laconic blonde Catherine Valmont (Françoise Blanchard) back to life (inspiration for Return of the Living Dead). She stolidly uses her sharp fingernails on anyone that gets in her way as she ambles up from the crypt, only to return to the castle above it (talk about taking the long way ‘round).

More vampire than zombie, Catherine seems to require the blood of the living at regular intervals. Otherwise, she gets cranky. The realtor selling the castle in which she lived provides some further nourishment. Luckily, childhood pal Helene (Marina Pierro) is there to clean up the mess. She’s more than a little shocked to see Catherine up and about, as she should be. What’s more, she should be jealous at how good Catherine looks after two years in a coffin.

Helene swears to protect her “blood sister,” going so far as procuring nubile nymphs from the nearby village for Catherine to poke and feed upon. This provides plenty of pornographic violence with Sapphic overtones. Meanwhile, in the “B Story,” the rude American visitors try to figure out how Barbara snapped a photo of a woman reported dead who was wondering through the French countryside. It’s only a matter of time until the two storylines predictably intersect with sanguine results.

Rollin seems to have a great love of nudity and fake blood, two great things that go great together. The shots of Catherine feeding go on for far too long (even when fast forwarding). Shot with a rich color palette, Rollin seems to be aping high art while producing schlock. At least Joe D’Amato (Buried Alive) and Carlos Aured (House of Psychotic Women) knew that they were directing exploitation pictures, pure and simple. Living Dead Girl is best remembered for loaning its title to a Rob Zombie tune. As a song, it’s great. As a movie, not so good. — Mike White

Tags: Living Dead Girl, La Morte Vivant, Rob Zombie, Buried Alive, House of Psychotic Women