The most satisfying way to watch zombie-themed comedy horror Final Cut likely would be to go in without any foreknowledge. Michel Hazanavicius’ French remake of Shin’ichirô Ueda’s One Cut of the Dead loses some punch if you know too much about what you’re in for. So those who’ve seen Ueda’s 2017 cult film, or even those who finish reading this review, are going to experience the film in a much different way than those who happen upon it with no background. With obligatory spoiler alerts out the way, let’s get to the goods.
Final Cut is a movie inside a movie inside a movie. The first 30-odd minutes of the film are presented without context. What’s theoretically impressive as a lengthy one-shot scene involving a fictional film crew making a zombie flick who are then besieged by real zombies is not at all impressive in practice, not in performance, dialogue or direction. In fact, it’s almost laughably disorganized and just plain bad in stretches, characters awkwardly spending the better part of 60 seconds repeatedly asking if the others are okay, actors appearing in the frame seemingly by accident and an absurdly protracted sequence of a young woman wailing in fright. What’s more, all the French characters inexplicably have Japanese names and reference locations in Japan. It seems this schlockiness is probably intentional, but to what ends? Even as a parody, it’s unfocused. However, after the gory zombie mayhem in this short-film-within-a-film ends, it’s finally revealed that this is a fake movie production about a fake movie production.
In fact, Hazanavicius’ film isn’t actually a horror movie at all, but actually just a story about making one in rather extreme circumstances. Act two provides us with the background leading up to this one-take flick, which is directed by Rémi (Romain Duris), a bargain bin director who is hired by a Japanese company to make this picture because of his credo to make films “fast, cheap, and decent.” Although it’s not simply a motion picture—the single take is going to be broadcast as a live event. Rémi initially thinks they must be pulling his leg, but then spends the next month finding a way to make it happen. We get some context about his family life—his wife, Nadia (Bérénice Bejo), is a former actress who gave up the craft because she gets so immersed in her performances that she thinks it’s real, and his Tarantino-loving daughter, Romy (Simone Hazanavicius), has directorial aspirations of her own—but mostly we witness the various obstacles that make Rémi’s eventual production such an achievement.
By the third act, we witness the live broadcast from a behind-the-scenes perspective that explains the oddities of the original short film, as Rémi flies by the seat of his pants to address each new challenge to the live production, including absent actors due to a car wreck, a hopelessly drunk performer and all manner of ad libs to the story and makeshift fixes out of necessity. Seeing this backstage look, something as simple as a crew member lying on the ground to fling a scoopful of blood at an actor’s face when each axe-swing lands, is where Final Cut derives its most effective humor.
For as unusual and unexpected as Final Cut may be for those approaching it without context, it simply won’t pack the same wallop for anyone who’s seen Ueda’s original film. Hazanavicius recreates that work so loyally, even framing many scenes nearly exactly the same and yet without the same DIY flourish, that there are few surprises. But the uninitiated, whose entry point is the awkward yet technically successful fake short film, are in for a treat, once they finally begin to understand what’s going on here.
The post Final Cut appeared first on Spectrum Culture.