Review: "Death Valley" - Season One

 

“Let’s get out there and kill something!”

Created by Curtis Gwinn, “Death Valley - Season One (Uncensored)” (2011), Liquid Theory/MTV/Paramount, USA.

 

“One year ago, Vampires, Werewolves and Zombies descended upon California's San Fernando Valley. Authorities remain baffled by their origins. These are the stories. Of the cops that capture the monsters. And the camera crews, that capture the cops. Death Valley...”

Well, as if “Todd and the Book of Pure Evil” wasn’t bad enough, here we go again! This time it’s “Death Valley”.

The premise of this show is relatively simple: the undead have invaded California’s San Fernando Valley and are causing mayhem. In response to this threat, the state has created the world’s first necro-specialist police unit – the Undead Task Force, or UTF. This fledgling team of misfits, under the hard-nosed direction of Captain Frank Dashell, hits the streets every day in search of zombies, vampires and werewolves, to take down with extreme prejudice.

(Why is it, by the way, that werewolves are classed as members of the undead? It doesn’t seem logical to me, but I guess, in this case, these guys are just trying to cast as wide a net as possible, in terms of scary beasties.)

Following in the footsteps of reality TV low-budget production values, “Death Valley” takes the “COPS” format and adds an extra layer from the darkside to ramp up the humour. This is like watching “Hill Street Blues” crossed with “Barney Miller” but with a hell of a lot more blood.

Like “Todd”, the humour here is not of the Noel Coward-esque variety: we’re definitely aiming for the lowest common denominator. This is ‘smut-and-exploding-entrails’ territory, so if you’re looking for the glittering verbal repartee exemplified by Katherine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy, do not enter.

 

The character list is a collection of stereotypes the creation of which wouldn’t have raised a sweat among the writers. To begin with, we have Billy Pierce, a mental dwarf who thinks he’s God’s gift to women, despite plenty of evidence to the contrary; next, we have officer Kirsten Landry, whose giggly, blonde, rookie status is underscored by the fact that she’s a virgin; then we have Carla Rinaldi, a feisty latina who’s quick on the draw and holds grudges; finally, in the one-dimensional cast category, we have John ‘John-John’ Johnson, the low-brow black cop who prefers a baseball bat to a gun and is basically identical to Billy, except for race. All pretty standard stuff really, although the writers did push themselves by making Carla gay which, in the final analysis, isn’t really that much of a stretch with this type of humour (seriously, you get the idea that this show must have begun life as a plot for a porn flick).

The two remaining permanent cast members actually have a little bit of polish to them which marginally raises them above the herd. Officer Joe Stubeck, the long-suffering bald partner of Billy the narcissist, is married with children, trying to do his job by the book and to set the right example for the community, especially his kids. His exasperation with his team members is palpable and, while certainly no Einstein himself, his frustration with those around him creates quite a lot of comedy gold. Watching him and Billy take out a nest of zombies while Billy quizzes him on what to do if you run out of clean underwear before wash-day is surreal and hilarious; also nerve-wracking because Billy. Simply. Will. Not. Focus. On the task at hand.

 

The final character is Frank Dashell, head of the taskforce. He is the hard-bitten cop’s cop: seen it all, done it all, armed with a wealth of experience and insight. He comes off as a blend of Walker, Texas Ranger and the glue-sniffing pilot from “Flying High”. In each episode he delivers the mandatory “listen up...!” speech which deteriorates, “Office”-like, into a rambling, wincingly-painful, too-much-information monologue. He spends most of his time not listening to anyone, avoiding the obvious and somehow landing on his feet regardless.

The rest of the show is full-on gross-out, blood, mayhem and violence. Our main characters manage to take out scores of shuffling undead monsters without getting scratched or bitten (with the inevitable consequences); extras and newcomers get chopped in the crossfire. The rule of thumb is, if a newbie cop has just been transferred to the UTF at the start of an episode, don’t get attached: they’ll be chanting “Brains!” before the credits roll. Our cast escort werewolves to Lock-Down on full-moon eves; they investigate reports of strange old ladies keeping their zombified husbands tied up in their living rooms; and they infiltrate teen-age ‘turning parties’ hosted by vampires. The fun never quits.

 

What makes it work is the reality TV approach and the UTF cops’ teeth-grinding ineptitude. The cameramen and sound technicians who escort them through their daily rounds are inevitably crunched down like corn-chips, as the vamps and werewolves find new and interesting means of causing chaos – loading zombies with bombs (“bombies”) is a favourite tactic. There’s a constant sense that if only these guys would concentrate on the task at hand and forget about their personal dramas and obsessions, the epidemic of undead nightwalkers would soon be contained.

Crucial to the show’s credibility (!) is the fact that they set up the rules for the show and then stick to them. Fresh zombies move quickly; older ones slow down: headshots take them out. Vampires get burned by sunlight; their saliva has a narcotic effect on humans; and they indulge in very strange funeral ceremonies. Werewolves gradually transform as the moon becomes full, if they’re long-time sufferers of the condition; newbies change far more rapidly. Most of this stuff is par for the course; some of it is peculiar to the show. Regardless, the fact that they stringently observe their own rules makes it all hang together.

In the final analysis though, it’s a very adolescent level of humour that’s being paraded here. If boobs and fart jokes and men behaving badly are your cup of tea, then there’s stuff here for you to enjoy. A lot of stuff. For me, I had some fun with this, but I had to acknowledge to where it was being pitched and rein in my expectations.

Three Tentacled Horrors.