The Last Man on Earth

To celebrate the two year anniversary of when I last saw The Last Man on Earth, I decided to watch it again.

Long before the impressive "man" streak, long before my beard was longer than it is now but shorter than it was before, long before my wife threatened to take my life because of this blog, and long before I was ready to admit that Vincent Price is the greatest actor of all time, I sat down and watched this, the first adaptation of Richard Matheson's I Am Legend. It was June 23, 2008. I sat down with my action pants (a pair of tights with a jock strap worn over them), a muscle shirt, and a bowl containing approximately eight servings of tapioca pudding, and I watched The Last Man on Earth. Halfway through, I realized (and I've never told anybody about this before, but this is the kind of thing you share on two year anniversaries) that the ghost of Vincent Price, sans pants (action or otherwise), had sat beside me, leaning forward slightly and fondling the coffee table like it was a woman. We watched the rest of the movie together. I laughed twice, and he shot me a look like you see on the poster there. I yawned once; he shot me the same look. One year and two days later, while I was celebrating the one year anniversary of when I watched The Last Man on Earth, I was playing Michael Jackson's Thriller, and the song "Thriller" came on. I had attached jumper cables to my nipples in anticipation of the part of the song where Vincent Price laughs, and at that precise moment, my telephone rang and a man named Lucas who I had briefly, at a gas station in Nebraska, conversed with about how many different kinds of soda pops there were now compared to when he was a kid and then never seen again informed me that the King of Pop had died. "I thought you'd like to hear it from me first," he said. "I'm drinking something called a Grape Crush. Where the hell do they come up with this stuff?" That night, I was visited once again by the ghost of Vincent Price, sans shirt this time, and we wept together while he quoted a line from "Thriller": "Now is the time for you and I to cuddle close together. Yeah." It was one of five life-changing experiences I had that week, but I don't remember the other four.

You can find my other write-up on June 23, 2008. My feelings haven't really changed. I think Price is excellent as usual. This movie really starts strong, sags in the middle with a really long flashback, and then has an unsatisfying conclusion. There are some great opening shots--empty gray buildings and streets, a gray sunrise, haunting gray corpses curled up on sidewalks or across stone steps, abandoned gray automobiles, a church sign with the ominous message "The end has come." And this has such a great opening line (Price's narration): "Another day to live through; better get started." The zombies really remind me of Romero's in Night of the Living Dead, but that could just be that I haven't seen a black and white zombie movie in a long time. I'd still rather them be mute though. When the zombies are first shown in motion, it's right after Vincent Price's character has thrown on a jazz record, and it looks for a moment like they're dancing. Something else I noticed this time around: There's a scene where Price is watching film, and he starts laughing at a scene with monkeys. It reminded me of the scene in Ghostrider where Nicolas Cage is laughing at televised monkeys, a scene that, if you haven't had to pleasure of watching Ghostrider yet, is very nearly a religious experience.

This is, for those of you keeping score, 50% better than The Omega Man and over 100% better than the terrible I Am Legend. And before you accuse me otherwise, that has nothing to do with my opinion on rights to own firearms or my racism.