Fantasia ’14 Review: ZOMBEAVERS

Continuing with its 18+ motif (my words, not theirs), anyone who’s been to Fantasia knows that you really haven’t experienced much until you step into the threshold of their catacombs for one of the much lauded midnight screenings. That’s where you can really let loose, leave your brain at the door, and allow the onslaught of cinema carnage fill that vacant spot in your cranium with the many things your parents wish you didn’t know about.

Consistent with what turned out to be an incredibly strong opening weekend for screenings, Zombeavers kicked off the midnight circuit with what must have been one of the smartest (no, seriously), funniest and all around enjoyable offering to fit this timeslot in a really long time. This movie could have played at any other time and passed the test, but the foaming at the mouth midnight crowd was more than ready to go down on some Zombeavers!

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Analyzing a film with a title like Zombeavers for symbolism is like reviewing a rub and tug for the quality of their massage. It could be useful, but that’s not what we’re there for.

The plot is tried and true: a group of sorority sisters head off to a cabin in the woods to help one of them deal with a bad breakup. The only rule: no boys. The cabin just happens to be next to a body of water populated by happy go lucky beavers, where not too long before, some yokels accidentally dropped in a barrel of toxic waste. It’s always the toxic waste! Mix in the requisite rugged ol’ coookooo catchu alpha male character and what can go wrong right?

The thing you need to understand about Zombeavers is that it really doesn’t matter who’s killing all dem friendly folk. It doesn’t matter that they are zombified/mutant/undead versions of loveable moist, hairy mammals. They could be parrots, monkeys, slugs, or iphones. Who really cares as long as we can laugh, gasp, see some blood, some grue, jump out of our chair a few times and hopefully see some skin.  It helps however that our little zombeaver friends really wreak havoc for our silver tonged heroines in true, practical form. There’s no CGI here my nerdlings. Practical. Effects. Which, by the way, are fantastic. As our moist little furries go about their killing business, you really get the impression that despite the absurdity of the setting, the team behind the effects took their job seriously. As absurd as these little monsters seem, you start to believe in them as they occupy real space with the actors. You look right into at their glowing eyes, and almost feel around for that open gape between those little quivering lips and repeat to yourself: Zombeavers man. Zom.beavers.

The bright side is that the filmmakers are just as much in on the joke as you are and this is evident from the first frame. Zombeavers doesn’t take itself too seriously and if you really think about it, serves as a sort of meta-statement of the common American horror narrative itself; much in the same vein as Scream and yes, even Cabin in the Woods. The difference however is that it’s never acknowledged.  The film is packaged straight-up, and includes everything you’ve come to love and recognize in that familiar and comfortable tickling of the ID.

The point is that you don’t watch a movie like Zombeaver to be moved and gain perspective on your life. Yes, you’re getting old. Yes, you made mistakes. Yes, it’s probably too late for you. No. You watch Zombeavers to satisfy the most basic of needs, stimulate those dead nerve endings one more time before taking another sheet of some bad hallucinogen and calling it a daze. What Zombeaver does well however, is sneak in a little substance in a tight, zippy 80 minute package. Zombeavers.