Bursting with creative, madhouse genius, Cemetery Man is a poetic and beautiful, jumbled mess of a film. Despite being scattershot in plot and pace, and uneven in emotional tones and narrative, there's something enchantingly appealing about its charm that distills all the positive and negative elements of decades of Italian B-films into a zombie flick that's at once a cinematic arthouse film and inconsistent trash.
At times erotic, at times poetic, even dreamy when not nightmarish but mostly feels repetitive with going nowhere. The latter could be used even as a metaphor for movie's closing and that's the main strength of this picture; every tiny bit that comes out as a flaw could easily be just a piece of much bigger picture that is intended for more ambitious viewers. Rupert Everett perfectly embodies a Dylan Dog archetype.
Michele Soavi, one of the Italian horror greats, whose career was tragically cut short. He made three masterpieces of grand guignol cinema that heavily doff their bloody hats to Argento, but also have a delirious identity all their own: LA CHIESA (aka DEMONS 3), THE SECT and this, Cemetery Man aka Dellamorte Dellamore. This is his most poetic and classical, and his most original.
Perfetta commistione di generi, stili, atmosfere e classe. Film completamente fuori dal tempo, prende tutto il meglio degli anni 70 e lo smembra completamente con una libertà espressiva notevole, la macchina da presa si scatena in una vorticosità che nemmeno il più grande De Palma,
Senza costrizioni la figura di Francesco Dellamorte è raccontata cinematograficamente, ogni piccolo elemento sonoro o visivo traccia...
"My name is FRANCESCO DELAORTE. Weird name, isn't it? FRANCIS OF DEATH. SAINT FRANCIS OF DEATH. I often thought of having it changed. ANDREA DELLAMORTE would be nicer, for example." The best b-film ever made? Probably yes. Great acting and directing, hell yeah.