Zombie Honeymoon Movie Review

After reading my “worst movie of all time” review of Wild Seven, Tom would like to share his worst movie of all time:

Grandmother used to say that if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all, dearie–but she also believed my face my get stuck like that and in the healing power of crystals, so I’m going to say some un-nice things about Zombie Honeymoon (2004). Sorry, grandma. Don’t turn in your grave or leave it and make me shoot you in the brainpan…


The film’s story is one similar to Dead Alive’s of helping and hiding undead loved ones but without the brilliance of Peter Jackson directing, writing pratfalls, or being generally humorous and gory. Premise of Zombie Honeymoon being, husband dies on honeymoon because some dead guy, maybe a zombie (how? it’s unexplained) walks up from the ocean and pukes some kinda black unctuous fluid (what? also unexplained) into hubby’s mouth (why? again unexplained) killing him but also providing apparently the source of his renewed life as a flesh-hungry, slowly rotting zombie (yes, the characters do use the z-word despite violating genre conventions). Wife witnesses husband eating a guy and is understandably appalled. Then she’s not. Then she thinks continuing with their irrational plans earlier in the film of moving to Portugal (you’ve got me, probably based on director’s “true story,” addressed below) might make things better (wtf’s are appropriate here). In the end, undead hubby is about to eat wifey or maybe spit the de- and re-vivifying black stuff into her mouth when instead he projectile phlegms it across the kitchen, saving her life and leaving us wondering what the black stuff could be and why it was going to be vomited then and there. Regaining the power of speech suddenly for these last words which I feel better if he also speaking as a proxy for the director, husband says, “I’m sorry.” Thus endeth the movie.

The acting is less believable than the plot.

Apparently this is based on a true story of writer/director David Gebroe’s sister’s fiancé dying. Yeah? If you ever hear this caveat in a writers’ workshop, do like Mission to Burma and reach for your revolver. Headshots should kill the conversation. Point being, true stories don’t make it a good story. True stories adapted to bad romantic zombie films also make for bad film. Maybe my grandmother’s saying holds true with a few minor substitutions: If you can’t make a decent zombie film, don’t make one at all.


In a scale of one to a hundred, I give this negative 83 minutes of my life.

So I’m guessing this would be around a 2/10

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