Fair warning: I love this movie. Love it love it fucking love it. I love damned near everything about it, with really just one notable exception. It's one of the flicks that inspired me to get back on the proverbial horse and start writing again, finally. So, I'm going to sound all glowing and tingly, and with Pontypool, that's precisely how I feel about it. Suffice it to say that I'm going to try my damndest to sway anyone out there who has yet to give this original, beautifully quiet "zombie" movie its fair shake. Based on the complex, intelligent, thrilling, and tautly-constructed novel "Pontypool Changes Everything" by Tony Burgess (who wrote the screenplay for the cinematic adaptation), Pontypool, in a very real way, and if you'll pardon the pun, changes everything. As a guy who's fascinated by language...the rhythm, the structure, everything about language...this movie and its source novel pretty much make my nipples hard. There's an almost Shakespearean sense of language and wordplay at work here...to paraphrase "Hamlet", "Words. Words, words." Or, for that matter, "I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams". Am I being obtuse? Maybe. But watch the film...you'll get it. "So tell us how you really feel", I'm sure you're thinking. Oh, don't you worry...I will.

The synopsis...
Former big-city shock-jock Grant Mazzy (Stephen McHattie), who's recently and begrudgingly taken the only job his agent could get for him after some undefined professional mishap, makes his way to his new job one cold morning at a pissant little radio station in the basement of a church in the pissant little town of Pontypool, Ontario, Canada, where Mazzy does the status-quo morning radio show. Though he tries to inject as much of his own personality (or "Mazzyness", as it's later termed) into the programming, his beautiful but cold and o'er cautious show director Sydney Briar (Lisa Houle) squelches damned-near every attempt by reminding Mazzy that this isn't the big city anymore; that nobody wants to hear anything too uproarious or controversial. In the eyes of pretty young production assistant Laurel-Ann (a pert Georgina Reilly), though, Mazzy can pretty much do no wrong; the crush she has on her "boss" is pretty much implicit, though he's clearly old enough to be her father, if not her grandfather. She likes everything about Mazzy that rubs Sydney the wrong way; she actively encourages, in her own small way, the Mazzyness that so clearly has gotten Mazzy into trouble more than once, and that Sydney keeps trying to tone down. Into this psychologically (and physically...with almost no exceptions, all of the film's action takes place within the confines of the basement-bound radio station) claustrophobic environment comes an odd news story from the radio station's "very own Ken Loney" (Rick Roberts, who "appears" in the film, like several other significant characters, in voice-over form exclusively), who "flies" around town in his "news chopper" keeping an eye on local events and weather patterns from the "sky". You'll understand all those quotation marks when you see the film. Well, on this particular day, which just happens to be February 14th (aka Saint Valentine's Day, which becomes peripherally important later on), it's business as usual on Mazzy's radio show. He's locking horns with Sydney over content and context, subconciously encouraging Laurel-Ann's innocent flirtations, and very conciously loathing the sad state of affairs that is his life. Suddenly, a call comes in from Ken; he's witnessed an event in downtown Pontypool...an event for which there is no logical explanation. Seems that hundreds of townsfolk have converged at the offices of a Doctor Mendez (Hrant Alianak), a controversial figure in town, evidently. The uninvited visitors, as Ken describes, pack themselves into the small office, to such an extent that the walls of the building literally crumble outward, spilling people onto the streets. Perplexed and even somewhat suspicious of an elaborate hoax, Mazzy and company broadcast the "details" of Ken's first hand account. Then, as stranger and stranger reports start coming in, it becomes clear that something is amiss in the normally quiet burg. Through a series of reports phoned in by Ken (and others), it's told that people are beginning to commit bizarre and highly violent acts against their fellow townsfolk, all whilst mumbling and repeating seemingly random words and phrases over and over and over again. As the reports get freakier, our intrepid band of radio-station-bound protagonists get progressively more worried, panicked, and terrified. Whatever has stricken the citizens of Pontypool, it's as mysterious as it is deadly. Soon, Mazzy and company are holed up in their basement-bound hideaway. As Mazzy continues to broadcast, if for no other reason than to try to hang onto some semblance of reality, the town of Pontypool, at the very least, appears to be crumbling into sheer panic, chaos, and horror.

Like other examples of the "not really a zombie movie" zombie movie genre, Pontypool's shuffling beasties are wholly human, having been somewhat augmented by a disease or virus rather than actually being lumbering undead creatures in the Romero tradition. Certainly, they share a predilection toward violence and cannibalism. But, as with the victims of "rage" in 28 Days Later, these suckers can really boogie when they need to, and further, during those rare quiet moments when you can actually get a good long look at them, their faces betray that human spark of intelligence, reasoning, and utter sadness that is to be expected of a living person who's lost control of their faculties and has been driven to horrible deeds by a strange force. There are times when you almost feel bad for the afflicted. But, traditionally, the zombie movie is about the interpersonal struggles and survivability (or otherwise) of the protagonists. Pontypool is no exception. Though it's been said that Pontypool is a bit like Orson Wells' infamous broadcast of the Mercury Theatre radio adpatation of "War of the Worlds", that's probably oversimplifying a bit. This story's interests lie decidedly on the fates of the principles, particularly Mazzy and Sydney, and their efforts to not only survive this onslaught of chaos, but to begin to understand the phenomenon; they recognize that understanding what's going on is absolutely key to their survival, dubious though that prospect might seem. A key part of that quest for understanding is the sudden appearance of Doctor Mendez, who crawls through an open basement window to join the others in the church basement/radio station. Doctor Mendez certainly has some first hand experience with what's going on, it seems, and he wastes no time in making his recommendations and spouting his theories. It's here that Pontypool loses a bit of stem, for me. Whereas the value of the Mendez character to the story is undeniable, both in terms of information delivery and a bit of comic relief, something about the character, as portrayed by Hrant Alianak, just falls flat. He's a little too harried and bumbling to be even remotely believable; a little too cynical and over-the-top to really "fit" into the proceedings. Perhaps, dialed back a bit, the character would not have seemed to me a flaw, but rather a boon. The good Doctor (or is he good? his ties to the initial outbreak of this "virus", while vague at best, seem certain enough...a mad scientist's experiment gone horribly wrong, perhaps?) does what he comes there to do, story wise, and then, mercifully, is eliminated as a topic of conversation (the specifics of which I will not reveal). So, when the focus returns to the main protagonists, it's a welcome return, and the film can continue proper.

For a story about the weight of language in the human experience, (and that's about as specific as I'll get), Pontypool does a frighteningly convincing job of making both the proverbial destroyer of worlds, as well as a savior of sorts. There's nothing clumsy about Burgess' script based on his own novel. He uses words intelligently...economically. He demonstrates that perception of words is more important that their original "real" meaning, and that a turn of the phrase can create as well as destroy. It's interesting to me that the screenwriter/author of this tale is named Tony Burgess; it instantly invokes Anthony Burgess, author of another language-obsessed novel, "A Clockwork Orange", one of whose undercurrents is that language has been transformed by teenagers and ruffians into something that makes it damned-near useless to anyone over the age of thirty. Once-familiar words take on new shades and tones. Even terms of endearment, once something to be craved and shared between family, friends, and lovers, have become meaningless and even threatening. Burgess' script for Pontypool plays with these verbal toys to much the same effect, even during quieter moments. There's a notable scene about mid-way through the film where (without ruining too much) Mazzy delivers an on-air obituary for the masses. It's merely a few minutes of Mazzy's voice speaking over a montage of "home video clips", but it's one of the most chillingly beautiful pieces of prose poetry that I've ever witnessed, to say nothing of it sitting smack dab in the middle of a horror flick.

...and a horror flick it most certainly is. It's miles from being the most graphically gory "zombie" movie out there, and damn it all if it isn't super quiet much of the time (one of the movie's tag lines is, "Shut up or die", after all), but it sure does pack a punch when it needs to. Much of the violence occurs squarely offscreen, mostly in the form of descriptive phone calls and messages. But man oh man, those descriptions. Eerie, disturbing stuff. Of course, the success a movie whose limited cast appears onscreen in 99.9% of the shots is entirely dependent upon convincing performances. McHattie has received some accolade for his performance as the grizzled Mazzy, and deservedly so. He walks the constant line between self-assured prick, helpless drunk, suspicious but alarmed skeptic, terrified believer, and finally, the semi-hero who has become resigned to his own perceived fate. No other actor, save perhaps someone with the gravity of, say, Robert Duvall, could have pulled it off any better, or even half as well as McHattie. Being the chief point of relation between audience and story arc, he carries a massive burden in this film. What can I say, the guy just pulls it off, and the movie is infinitely better, and scarier, than it would have otherwise imagined it could be. The two ladies are no slouches, either. Laurel-Ann is that rare-bird of a horror movie character - the completely sympathetic character. All she has to do is be useful to the plot, pine after Mazzy a bit, and act concerned, and Georgina Reilly does a fine job. Trust me, she's as pure-as-snow a horror movie character as you've ever seen. Also of note, though his performance is entirely "heard" rather than "seen" is Rick Roberts as Ken Loney. He brings just the right amount of awkwardness at the beginning, followed by confusion and terror, and then resignation to his fate. In short, his character arc is precisely that of Mazzy, except without any onscreen chance of redemption or would-be heroics.

By virtue of the very nearly single-location setting of the story, and the inherent importance of sound to the proceedings, Pontypool could very easily work as a radio broadcast. Simply broadcast the soundtrack and dialog as-is, and you would have a different but equally frightening experience. However, the visuals of the film are not to be overlooked so readily. Bruce McDonald carefully frames every scene, and though the action is quite static, the camera rarely is. While there's nothing here visually that's particularly ground-breaking, it's quite artfully crafted. McDonald uses camera movement to beautifully underscore and accentuate the various scenarios and emotions on display, from abject sorrow, to shattering fear...from self loathing, to misguided puppy love. And finally, from total desparation to gleeful triumph and destruction. There's nary a wasted shot, and it's to McDonald's unending credit that he's able to evoke that kind of fluidity and movement in such cramped quarters. I look forward to more from this guy, genre or otherwise. He's got an interesting touch.

IFC Films' lovely unrated release could easily have been touted as a "special edition", given the relative wealth of extras present; a handful of trailers, an excedingly interesting commentary track, a collection of short films, and most interestingly, the original CBC radio show, which pretty much proves my earlier points regarding the nature of Pontypool. The Dolby Digital 5.1 surround track is crisp and clear, and given how crucial sound is to this film, that's an absolute necessity. The 2.35:1 Anamorphic Widescreen presentation is likewise crisp, with nice blacks/shadows, and very little artifacting/compression ghosts. All in all, a fitting release for a fabulous, intriguing, and genuinely creepy movie. Without reservation, Pontypool claims the AC Essential award. Seek it out now, and if you've already seen it, watch it again. Though, according to one of the other taglines for Pontypool, "words lose their meaning when you repeat them", repeating viewings of the film will only increase your appreciation of this finely crafted piece of cinematic art art art art art art art art art art art art art art art art art art art art art art artartartartaARTARTarTartArTARTRARTATARTARTARATRTRTAARTRTRRTRRARTRTARTR...