PREMIERE.COM'S REVIEW (posted 6/15/07)

Fido opens with a hilariously deadpan newsreel introducing the film's primary conceit: In an alternate-reality 1950s America, radioactive space dust has caused death to be a little less permanent than before. Following "The Zombie Wars," a company called Zomcon (which echoes nicely with the critically-coined Shaun genre "zom-com") has domesticated the undead with special containment collars for use as servants, manual labor, and, in officially unsanctioned circumstances, household pets. The perfectly All-American Robinson family (Baker, Moss, and Ray) need to keep up with the Joneses — or, in this case, new neighbors the Bottomses, headed up by Zomcon security chief Czerny — so they buy a zombie manservant in the form of Connolly. The friendless Robinson boy, Timmy, instantly bonds with the lumbering corpse, and names him "Fido." What happens next is a twisted concoction of social satire and political commentary wrapped up in a delightfully nasty black comedy. Honestly, I don't even know where to start. Czerny's war hero security chief sets the tone early on, his square jaw forever clenching a pipe and calling to mind the soulless, grinning posterboy for the Church of the Sub-Genius. Fido is the type of movie where a scene involving a collar-less zombie chowing down on an old lady isn't nearly as chilling as Baker — his frightened, rigor mortis grin never put to better use — proudly packing his son a handgun and shuffling him off to school. Once there, the young lad will be asked how many kills he has and then take recess-slash-target practice.

With its use of aggressively cheerful hues that are equal parts Technicolor and Tim Burton Candyland, Fido is a "boy and his dog" movie thrown into a horror movie blender. This is perfectly realized in a jaw-droppingly funny "Timmy's trapped in the well" sequence that almost seems like it could have been made in the 50s had George Romero ever worked on Lassie. The performances are outstanding across the board, with everyone getting a moment to shine. Moss' speech where she frets about being called "strange" in a suburb filled with dead mailmen and paperboys is a wonder, while Tim Blake Nelson's creepy ex-Zomcon employee — and his "servant", Tammy — are uncomfortably funny every time they're onscreen. Even Connolly, who is asked to do little more than play Frankenstein, imbues Fido with a real sweetness. His puppy-dog eyes, even surrounded by decaying flesh, are tough to resist.

It may take some searching to find a theater playing Fido, but make the effort. You won't be disappointed.

— Eric Alt