If you’ve ever had dating troubles, you may have heard some variation on the phrase “there’s a lid for every pot,” meaning that no matter your height, weight, body type, or physical characteristics, someone out there will be into you. That concept reaches its zenith in “Dead Lover,” in which the stink of dead corpses—a smell so repulsive, most humans instinctively run from it—is fuel for the passionate affair between a lonely Gravedigger (Grace Glowicki) and her foppish aristocratic Lover (Ben Petrie) in a vaguely Victorian black void. It’s an absurd film, but also a romantic and quietly radical one.
The chemistry between Glowicki and Petrie is palpable, as it should be: The pair are married in real life. (They also appear as a couple in Madeleine Sims-Fewer and Dusty Mancinelli’s recent “Honey Bunch.”) Petrie plays a total of seven roles in the film, donning a series of silly wigs and sillier accents to populate the backgrounds of various scenes. These include a lesbian nun, a German swimmer, and one of a trio of tittering town gossips, as well as the Lover whose sweet nothings drive the plot. Glowicki just plays the one Cockney caricature, but to be fair, she directed the movie as well.
“Dead Lover” has more “story by” credits than it does cast members: Nine people are credited with coming up with the harebrained plot, while only four of them appear on screen. (The other two, Leah Doz and Lowen Morrow, act in multiple roles as well.) That says a lot about the film’s collaborative, handmade ethos: Shot entirely on a black box theater-style set, and utilizing miniatures, stop-motion animation, and other old-fashioned effects created by crew member Michael Harmon, “Dead Lover” has a crafty, cardboard-and-construction paper feel to it that’s enhanced by the theatrical lighting—a single spotlight with a red gel is placed at Glowicki’s feet to serve as a “fireplace”—and tactile 16mm cinematography.
Glowicki’s performance is broad, and she gives herself to it with abandon, creating her character’s many moods through ridiculous facial expressions and daffy monologues. The effect is mostly comedic, enhanced by charmingly lo-fi touches like the branches that smack Glowicki as she runs (in place) through the forest (set) in pursuit of her true love. Occasionally, however, she achieves real pathos, as when a rival tries to tell her that her Lover is a heartless cad who uses the same lines on all of his conquests. The rest of the cast is game as well, particularly Doz, who channels the great Elsa Lanchester in a wild performance as a sex-crazed reanimated opera singer.
“Dead Lover” is daring you to take it seriously, or perhaps distracting you with a goofy dance while it quietly queers the “Frankenstein” myth. Mary Shelley has rightfully regained her place as the mother of science fiction in recent years, and for whatever reason (loss of bodily autonomy, maybe), contemporary reinterpretations of her most famous work tend to have a horny feminist bent. “Dead Lover” is among this cohort. And while, again, its treatment of the theme is very silly, it’s liberatory as well—when the Gravedigger first brings her Lover back to life after he dies at sea, he takes the form of a very long finger, which doesn’t hinder their sex life.
Men become women, women become men, and the only thing that matters is eternal love (and its twin, carnal pleasure). “Dead Lover” does a remarkably good job of sustaining what could be a very thin story over its 95-minute run time, introducing a pair of side characters who serve as philosophical foils for the Gravedigger’s blasphemous experiments as well as providing their bodies as her raw materials. The film’s final shot, in which lovers tenderly caress each other against a pink gravestone as an original song by the band U.S. Girls plays in the background, is both bizarre and sweet, transcending the boundaries of gender as well as death.
It’s like “The Mighty Boosh” staged a performance of “The Bride of Frankenstein,” with an interactive element—select theatrical screenings are enhanced with potent “Stink-O-Vision”—and an earnest, open heart. Viewers will have to let their guards down to engage with this film, both comedically and on a deeper level. One can be seen as a defense against the other, and indeed, the utter silliness of the film’s setting and performances does serve as a barrier to entry. Only the truest, most faithful, most committed lovers are invited into the film’s inner sanctuary, where they will be initiated into the mystery of the most romantic words in the English language: Don’t wash.
