The Dead Don't Die is a 2019 American horror comedy film written and directed by Jim Jarmusch. It features an ensemble cast including Adam Driver, Bill Murray, Chloë Sevigny, Steve Buscemi, Austin Butler, RZA, Tilda Swinton, Tom Waits, Danny Glover, Caleb Landry Jones, Rosie Perez, Carol Kane and Selena Gomez and follows a small town's police force as they combat a sudden zombie invasion.
- Bill Murray como el principal acantilado Robertson
- Adam Driver como Oficial Ronald “Ronnie” Peterson
- Tilda Swinton como Zelda Winston
- Chloë Sevigny como Oficial Minerva “Mindy” Morrison
- Steve Buscemi como el granjero Miller
- Danny Glover como Hank Thompson
- Caleb Landry Jones como Bobby Wiggins
- Rosie Perez como Posie Juarez
- Iggy Pop como Coffee Zombie
- Sara Driver como Coffee Zombie
- RZA como Dean
- Carol Kane como Mallory O'Brien
- Selena Gomez como Zoe
- Tom espera como ermitaño Bob
- Austin Butler como Jack
- Eszter Balint como Helecho
- Luka Sabbat como Zach
- Larry Fessenden como Danny Perkins
- Rosal Colon como Lily
- Sturgill Simpson como Guitar Zombie
- Maya Delmont como Stella
- Taliyah Whitaker como Olivia
- Jahi Winston como Geronimo
Bill Jarmusch's style is so singular and versatile that if you fall in love with it, as some of us did over 30 years ago with “Stranger than Paradise,” you'll believe there's no such thing as a bad Jarmusch picture, because you'll judge each new film in relation to Jarmusch's best, not what anyone else might've theoretically done with the same material. “The Dead Don't Die” is far from Jarmusch's best, but there's something to be said for its zonked-out acceptance of extinction.
You know the drill from all the other zombie films released in the last half-century—in particular George Romero's 1978 “Dawn of the Dead,” a satire on consumerism in general, American materialism specifically. Zombies take over the small town of Centerville (location unnamed, although the film was shot in upstate New York) and commence wandering the land they knew, repeating actions that once defined them, like swinging a tennis racket, or dragging a guitar or lawnmower around. Zombie children loiter in a ruined candy store, muttering brand names like incantations. (“Skittles…”) One zombie (horror film veteran Larry Fessenden) snacks on an arm as if were a turkey leg. “Cleveland,” he mutters, shambling away. When shot or slashed, the dead don't bleed, but instead emit puffs of soot. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, etc.
Each role has been cast with precisely the actor you expect to see in that sort of part: Driver is a soft-spoken, bespectacled nerd-hulk who gets a little too enthusiastic over the prospect of beheading former neighbors (the chief asks him if he's ever played minor-league baseball); Swinton is a long-haired, steely-eyed, elfin badass who seems to exist beyond the concepts of nationality or gender; Buscemi plays a blandly racist schmuck in a red hat whose impending death no one mourns; Carol Kane is a local drunk-turned-zombie whose only line is “chardonnay.” Characteristic of Jarmusch (and his regular cinematographer Frederick Elmes, also a veteran of David Lynch's films), scenes that might otherwise have played as genre box-checking become strangely beautiful, particularly when characters drive slowly through ghoul-dense residential streets at night, steering around former neighbors, or when the camera lingers on an image that's as lovely as it is unsettling, like a tableau of undead faces mashed against storefront glass.