Directed by Andrew Currie

Written by Robert Chomiak and Andrew Currie

Starring: K’Sun Ray, Billy Connolly, Carrie-Anne Moss, Dylan Baker and Henry Czerny

91 min. in CinemaScope

For a seemingly limited genre, it’s amazing how many great zombie pictures there are out there. Fido could be the funniest living dead romp since George Romero put an amen on his archetypal trilogy with Day of the Dead.

It’s easily the sweetest comedy ever made about necromance.

From the meticulously appointed ZomCon corporate training film that opens the movie, it’s a safe bet that you’re in the care of skilled mimics. Not a splice, scratch or bad haircut is overlooked. One jarring continuity flaw: although set in the ’50s, the film’s opening montage features clips from Romero’s 1968 version of Night of the Living Dead.

More than just master period re-animators, director Andrew Currie guides his cast and crew as they establish a nostalgic fantasy universe oozing with charm, dexterously understated irony and dark logic. This is one zombie satire that packs an extra bite.

The colorful, sun-drenched world on display still exists every night on TV Land and in isolated pockets of Santee. The peaceful small town of Willard is an all-white storybook haven free of crime and pollution. If anything, it’s more Munsters than Cleavers.

Timmy Robinson (K’Sun Ray) even has his own 6-foot, green-faced monster named Fido (Billy Connelly) for a pet. Actually, he’s the Robinson’s servant. Billy’s was the last family on the block to get its own domesticated zombie. In the ’50s, servitude was not only applauded, it was a status symbol.

Zombie-phobic Bill Robinson (Dylan Baker) complains about how much it costs to keep a zombie and becomes jealous when wife “Helen (Carrie-Anne Moss) casts her romantic attention Fido’s way. Helen comes by her lust honestly. Mr. Theopolis (Tim Blake Nelson) across the street has his own well-preserved zombie to share his bed.

Young Tammy (Sonja Bennett) was barely out of her teens when she had an aneurism in the local supermarket. Before she hit the ground, they had a protective collar on her and she’s been with Theopolis ever since.

After a local chatterbox turns up dead and reborn, Mr. Bottoms (Henry Czerny), the Robinson’s next door neighbor and ZomCon bigwig, suspects Fido. He later points out to Timmy, “Because you became friends with a zombie, a lot of nice people have been killed.” The timing and deadpan delivery is uniformly faultless throughout.

The casting, too, is nothing short of inspired. Dylan Baker brilliantly fills Don Knotts’ shoes. Lantern-jawed, pipe-smoking Henry Czerny is a perfect representation of ’50s machismo. Carrie-Anne Moss not only knows how to look smart in a Peter Pan collar, she’s also an expert marksman skilled in the art of killing wild packs of infected Cub Scouts. Even 14-year-old newcomer K’Sun Ray shines as the adorable moppet who sees through the social panacea.

Funnier than Shaun of the Dead and even sharper than Robin Campilo’s French zombie epic They Came Back, Fido is as close as the cinema’s ever likely to come to a Douglas Sirk zombie melodrama. Don’t miss it!

four and a half stars

Directed by Michael Bay

Written by Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman

Starring: Shia LeBeouf, Megan Fox, Josh Duhamel and Jon Voight

144 min. in CinemaScope

If you really want to know how bad a director Michael Bay is, pay close attention at the beginning of the Transformers, when the Decepticon helicopter lands at a military base in the desert of Qatar. In 30 seconds, the lighting changes more times than Cher’s costumes in a prime time special.

After side-stepping the third installments of both Spiderman and Shrek, bolting two reels into Pirates and not even noting the Harry Potter screening date on my calendar, why did I spend my July 4 watching Transformers?

Because the toys were cool.

For years I worked in a collectibles store in Chicago where Transformers tchotchkes were almost as coveted as “Brady Bunch” memorabilia.

Having never seen the TV show that spawned the merchandising, there was still something hypnotic about twisting and turning the heads and limbs of these weighty toys. They were metal Rubik cubes for dummies who demanded faster, more concrete results.

Too bad the same can’t be said of this bloated, big-screen blowup. After the initial attack, it takes forever for the action to reengage.

On the day of the desert attack, L.A. high schooler Sam Witwicky (Shia LeBeouf) just happens to be auctioning off his late grandfather’s spectacles (which just happen to contain an engraved map pinpointing the location of a mystical square trinket) on eBay.

Wanting to reward his fast-talking son for pulling good grades, Sam’s dad (Kevin Dunn) makes good on his promise of a new used car. On the lot, a yellow Camaro named Bumblebee takes an instant liking to Sam, and it’s here that everything begins to feel so familiar. The beater is a disguised Autobot assigned to protect Sam from Decepticons bent on using the cube’s powers to take over the earth.

A possessed auto taking control of its driver’s destiny is nothing new, and fans of John Carpenter’s Christine are sure to feel shortchanged. When Christine’s radio magically lit up, the songs it blasted represented attitude and swagger. The Bumblebee’s tuner underscores the obvious.

There is no reason that a film with so little imagination should run 144 minutes, and the time spent showing Sam winning both the car and sex object (Megan Fox) of his dreams should have been lessened. We’re here for robot wars, not another juvenile teen romance.

The automatons initially come at us in small doses, presumably an attempt on Bay’s part to build and structure his narrative. There’s an adorable animated erector set, reminiscent of Short Circuit’s despicable Number 5, sent out to scout the Pentagon.

The giant Autobots look great, and when the camera finally pulls back, some of the battle scenes on the streets of downtown L.A. are absolutely spectacular. Why did they have to speak? Sub-titled robot-ese would have been preferable to all of them sounding like an overcranked James Earl Jones.

Bay gives some fine character actors small roles to lend credibility to his childish vision. Jon Voight plays a decidedly befuddled secretary of defense, Anthony Anderson is a rubbery computer geek, and John Turturro provides some desperately needed third act comic relief. Even Bernie Mac picks up a paycheck and a hot bowl of soup as a used car salesman.

At least the film has a political conscience, as there is a lot of quality Republican bashing on display. The evil Decepticons are responsible for the deaths of more soldiers and civilians than the current regime. A W double, sporting red socks and craving Hostess Ding Dongs, helps transform a giant flying bird into Air Farce One.

Political leanings notwithstanding, nothing in Transformers converted me to Bay’s side. Does this guy have Polaroids of Criterion Collection execs having swordfights with naked Cub Scouts? How else does one go about explaining a snooty, overpriced DVD distributor adding this flick to a lineup that boasts the exalted likes of Yasujiro Ozu, Alfred Hitchcock, Luis Bunuel, Luchino Visconti and countless other cinematic Gods?

Advance word pegged this as a feature-length commercial for General Motors. What with all the product plugs, the MPAA should have made this the first film to receive a GM rating.

Transformers is also Hasbro’s first foray into feature film producing. That’s strange. Doesn’t it feel as though every summer film released over the past 10 years was produced by a toy company? For the definitive antidote, rent Joe Dante’s Small Soldiers.

one star