Heroes of the Zeroes is Nick Rogers’ daily, alphabetical look back at the 365 best films of 2000 to 2009.
The diplomatically damning satire of Fido felt like George Romero, John Waters, Joe Dante and Peter Jackson moving to Pleasantville to plummet property values.
Criminally overlooked, Andrew Currie’s 2006 comedy deserved a larger cult following than it gathered — a crafty and mordantly witty application of the Cold War panic present in Philip K. Dick’s Foster, You’re Dead to a zombie tale.
In what looks like 1950s America, but could eerily be present-day, space radiation sparked a zombie war. Humans won, but lingering radiation turns anyone who dies into a zombie. Physical education has become target practice, and concealed carry is a national necessity. Zombies collared to regulate flesh cravings perform menial work. And Zomcon (not for nothing, that suffix) regulates everything from ammo to milk.
Young Timmy (K’Sun Ray), meek and friendless, delights when his mom (Carrie-Anne Moss, against type as a suburban subservient) brings home Fido (Billy Connolly, looking, for those who squint, like a zombified Cary Grant). When Fido’s collar malfunctions, Timmy must cover-up a trail of bodies from his piggish dad (the incomparably ignorant Dylan Baker) and a Zomcon top dog (square-jawed Henry Czerny).
Currie delights in Lassie connections, although Fido prefers to fetch bones attached to old ladies. And Currie’s script incisively observes how taboo preferences of our society (resigning our elderly to a lonely twilight) have become policies in the one Fido creates. Macabre and satirical with the brash brio of all great zombie movies, Fido understood that the true ghouls’ hearts are still beating.