Isolation. Hysteria. The undying fear of death. The dread of thinking about it. The neverending and disappearing act of feeling loved. Jean Rollin’s The Grapes of Death is a shockingly annotated masterpiece gushing with scared human emotions, boiling exquisitely until it’s melancholy finale.
It does horror differently than a handful of other zombie flicks out there. The gore is short and sweet and shocking; depraved and vile, but absolutely important to displaying the insanity the film’s epidemic conjures out of its victims and it’s mesmerized viewers.