Tina Kakadelis
The monsters in our horror movies often have historical connections that are far removed from their modern understanding and usage. Vampires, while no exact origin has been determined, likely came about because of a lack of understanding of what a body goes through during decomposition or premature burial. Now they sparkle and say things like, “Hold on tight, spider monkey.” In Maya Annik Bedward’s SXSW-premiering Black Zombie, it’s the imagery of the zombie that’s explored culturally, historically, and contemporarily.
The concept of a zombie goes back to Haiti in the time of slavery, when people would say the workers in the field looked like the living dead. While most people today think of zombies in the context of The Walking Dead or The Last of Us, that iconography and portrayal only began with George A. Romero’s films in the 1970s. Black Zombie is a documentary of reclamation for the word “zombie.” Its roots come from Vodou, a spiritual practice that has little to do with sticking pins in dolls, although that likely crossed your mind. Black Zombie looks at the emergence of the monster in terms of film and popular culture, and also at how the spirituality of Vodou led to the Haitian uprising of 1791.
Haiti is the only nation in modern history that was created as a result of a slave uprising. This turn of the tide stemmed from a Vodou ceremony. It was a moment of connection and shared community that garnered strength for an unrelenting battle. Western history doesn’t teach the Haitian Revolution, and it was something that was also kept quiet at the time. White people spread the myth that those who were enslaved were too “weak-minded” to create a cohesive front that would cause real change. Black Zombie tells the viewers that, in Haiti, a zombie is like a return to slavery. In the beginning of this world’s identity, it wasn’t about brain-eating hordes. It was about a loss of autonomy while trapped in a body with no way out. Even when zombies modernize, the original fear is still at the forefront. It’s about an insatiable desire that consumes a person, rendering them a shell of what they once were.
The story of zombies is often presented as a tragedy. When the concept was first introduced in literature and films, the White characters were afraid of becoming zombies, as if they recognized the brutality of slavery. One of the participants of the film says that “zombification is living under someone’s thumb.” It’s the oppressor worrying about experiencing what they’ve put others through.
The images and actions of a zombie have changed throughout history. Some are slow-moving, others can sprint. The enduring source of fear, though, is that zombies are relentless. They will keep going and going until they get what they want or they’re killed. There’s nothing in heaven and earth that could stop them, and if you remember the historical context, what could be more intimidating for oppressors than a group of people unrelenting in their desire to be free?
The breadth of Black Zombie is difficult to comprehend at the onset. It tackles dense history while weaving through a serene ode to the beautiful island and its residents. When people talk about Haitians, they often refer to them as resilient. One of the Haitian residents in the film doesn’t agree with this adjective. He says, “Haiti is not resilience. Haiti is resistance.” It’s hard to disagree with that sentiment when the history of the nation is explained so eloquently in Black Zombie, a multigenerational, multilayered production that captures the richness of Haiti, Vodou, and zombies.
