Rupert Everett stars as Francesco Dellamorte, a lonely cemetery worker. His time is equally divided between burying the dead and dispatching of the recently undead that have inexplicably been rising from their graves (dubbed "returners" by Francesco). His portly mute assistant, Gnaghi (French actor Francois Hadji-Lazaro) provides him with only the most menial of creature comforts. Everett’s morbid schedule is soon interrupted by the appearance of a mysterious beauty (Anna Falchi). Grieving over her husband’s death, she soon warms to Francesco through a common interest in the macabre. However, the blossoming relationship soon proves problematic and disrupts Francesco’s simple, lonely life and through a most unfortunate incident, Francesco believes his lover to be dead. Francesco is further perturbed by Falchi’s bizarre re-appearances in a variety of guises (the mayor’s secretary, a prostitute) and soon he must question the very fabric of his life and the role death and love plays in it.

Perhaps the last truly great Italian horror film, Michele Soavi’s 1993 contribution to the genre is both loyal to its horror brethren and dazzlingly demiurgic. The misanthropic, quirky view the film takes on subjects as diverse as life, death and love automatically allows it to outclass similar contemporary Italian horrors. And judging from Soavi’s masterfully controlled camerawork, it is clear he has equaled his former maestro, Dario Argento.

The film’s main theme of death’s role in life and love is masterfully and fastidiously woven throughout the film’s 104 minutes, beginning with a long panning shot roaming across Francesco’s cemetery. The tracking sequence, beautifully constructed by cinematographer Mauro Marchetti, is so labored and brooding that it conveys the paramount significance the location occupies in Francesco’s life. The subsequent "grave view" shots (in POV, looking up from an empty grave) are also pregnant with ulterior meaning: Francesco’s "death-centric" outlook on life. The "death-centric" motif is one of the many sinews that bind the film. Another instance of this motif is the manner in which the zombies are portrayed and how Francesco reacts to them. Here, unlike in other zombie films, the undead are quite human, retaining many of their past lives’ idiosyncrasies: Falchi’s husband still lusts for her when he "returns" and the town’s deceased mayor frantically searches for his beloved daughter. Francesco is also unafraid of the undead and the viewer senses his hesitant kinship with them. Thus the zombies are anthropomorphic and suggest that the dead, like the living, have their own agendas.

The anthropomorphic zombies are only one facet of the film that suggests Francesco’s otherworldly connection with the world of the dead. His closest friend, Gnaghi, has the charisma of a cadaver, as he is mute and very restrained. In comparison, the walking dead is far more vivacious than he is. Thus through careful character construction Soavi conveys to the audience Francesco’s preference of the dead over the living. Because of Francesco’s "alliance" with death, it is easier for the audience to accept death’s symbiotic relationship with him. One benefit of this relationship is Francesco’s union to Falchi. He first makes her acquaintance at the cemetery, where she is mourning her husband’s death. This chance encounter would not have occurred had it not been for death. In fact, Francesco even says "Thank goodness" Falchi’s husband died, or else they would not have met.

Falchi’s character poses the main conflict in the film, that of love (and life) and death’s battle for supremacy in Francesco’s existence. This tension between love and death is cogently portrayed in the film’s most poetic sequence: Francesco and Falchi’s graveside lovemaking. In a superbly framed shot, Falchi’s warm, libidinous naked body arches back (surrounded by effulgent fireflies) and a cold, deathly angelic statue spreads its wings behind her, granting her marble wings, making her resemble an angel. This image is the perfect representation of the intersection of love and death and is one of the genre’s most astounding images.

However, we soon learn that Francesco cannot have love and death, as death soon claims his love by dispatching the newly animated corpse of Falchi’s husband on her. Her husband takes a healthy bite out of her and Francesco thinks her dead. In a moment of despair, he whispers "Nothing will separate us, not even death." Here Francesco is overstepping his role as a cemetery man and is trying to control death, and he pays dearly.

Death soon keeps Francesco in line and plays a cruel joke on him. Francesco sees Falchi’s corpse rising and, thinking her a returner, shoots her dead. Later he comes to the tragic conclusion that she was indeed very living at the time. Not only is this incident highly ironic but it underlines another major theme of the film: Francesco’s blurred distinction between the living and the dead.

Following this tragedy, the audience is introduced to another element of Francesco’s life: his existence outside the cemetery. As expected, it is anemic. In fact, various members of the small town taunt him and it is obvious he is not at ease in such a vivacious location populated with the living. The camera is particularly hot and bothered here, wildly darting about resembling a Sam Raimi Evil Dead entry. It is an effective visual metaphor for the "life energy" that so overwhelms Francesco. Gnaghi is particularly overwrought among the living here, as he proves when he meets the Mayor’s daughter Valentina (Fabiana Formica). Caught unawares by his sudden love for her, he literally becomes lovesick and vomits on her! Here it is obvious that Gnaghi is also quite inept at handling human emotion. In a line perfectly in tune with the film, Francesco comforts Gnaghi’s rejection by admitting "They all end up here sooner or later" while strolling through the cemetery.

The precarious nature of life and the shit luck that often cuts it short is exposed in the following sequence where Valentina, her boyfriend Claudio and his gang speed through a busy street on motorbikes. Their reckless driving soon comes to a bloody end when a tourist bus plows into them, making bloody mincemeat of the gang. The frenzied, satirical camerawork suggests the frailty of their lives, how cheap life can be, and the inevitability of death. Francesco’s scant respect for life is reflected in his cynical claim that he will be busy after this accident. Finally, in perhaps the film’s most tasteless (but not incongruous) sequence, Francesco mistakenly shoots the grieving Valentina as he dispatches of her now zombified Claudio. Again, Soavi takes a decidedly cynical attitude towards the cheapness of life and how easily it can be lost and now the viewer begins to realize the advantages of death (its constancy, inevitability and resilience) alongside Francesco. Equally tasteless is Gnaghi’s treatment of his deceased lover. Unable to wait for her to reanimate, he impatiently tears at her corpse in her coffin and rips her head off! Once again, Soavi gruesomely trivializes life.

Soon after this incident Falchi "returns" and Gnaghi delivers her a terrible death-blow in self-defense. Francesco is understandably heartbroken. The following morning Gnaghi burns Francesco’s collection of ancient phonebooks. Francesco is noticeably upset, as these were his "favorite reading." This shouldn’t come as a surprise to the viewer, as the old phonebooks are yet another potent metaphor for death: the old listings and phone numbers are a sort of last rites of the dead, similar to a gravestone. In an astonishing sequence, the grim reaper materializes out of the ash of the books. Soavi continues the metaphor with the reaper’s role: the keeper of the souls contained in the phonebooks, which are a sort of "book of the dead." The reaper warns Francesco not to tread on his territory (the realm of the dead) and to not kill the dead, but the living. This suggests that the living is disposable, but the dead is a precious commodity, a concept in tune with Franco’s ideology.

The reaper’s advice triggers Francesco’s killing spree. Francesco cruises the Italian strade claiming victims wholesale. The morning following this shocking bloodshed Francesco encounters Falchi’s character once again, this time "reincarnated" as the new mayor’s personal secretary. Even though Falchi is a different character here, she exhibits curious vestiges of her "past" life with Francesco. She admits that she has a profound sense of déjå vu as she walks through the graveyard. Most importantly, she again falls for Francesco. Because of these similar circumstances Falchi transcends a mere character into a concept: impossible love. In perhaps the film’s most absurd turn of events, Francesco willingly obliges to have his member "fixed" to appease his lover, who admits she can only be satisfied by impotent men. In a cruel twist of events, Francesco returns to his lover post-op and finds that she is now in love with the mayor! Although bizarre, the event holds significance. Soavi suggests in no uncertain terms the destructive qualities of lust and, perhaps, the reaper’s insistence that he choose between love and death. Indeed, in a moment of despair, Francesco admits he’s "between life and death" (a quote that, incidentally, also characterizes his cemetery worker job).

Francesco bitterly admits that he is "through with love" when he encounters Falchi’s character one last time. This time Falchi appears as a college student who, unbeknownst to Francesco, is also a prostitute to fund her education. After their lovemaking, Falchi’s schoolmate (Barbara Cupisti, the sole survivor of Soavi’s debut film Deliria) tells him that he owes her for the "service." Outraged, he burns down the apartment. Now Francesco has given up with the battle between love and death and is now in love with death.

Surprisingly, another individual admits to his crimes. Instead of being elated, Francesco is outraged, claiming "someone stole my murders." Francesco soon finds the culprit: Franco, his postal worker. Franco supposedly claimed the murders in a last-ditch effort to make a name for himself, as he is now laid up on his hospital deathbed. Francesco continues to dispatch of the living when he visits Franco, as he nonchalantly kills a nurse and priest. Clearly, Francesco’s disregard for human life is at a paramount here, the living only a mere nuisance to him. In an astonishing development, the hospital is in a frenzy because it is suspected another killer is on the loose. A police inspector recognizes Francesco, sees his gun and thinks it for his self-defense! By now Francesco is "dead" to the living world, as even his murders don’t garner him any notice.

After this incident Francesco returns one last time to the statue of the reaper. He admits, "You and I are both the same." In reply the statue animates just as Francesco turns his back and snaps "Where do you think you’re going if you don’t understand the difference between life and me?" Obviously, Franco has misinterpreted the reaper’s previous words and has wrongfully transgressed to the world of the dead by claiming the lives of the living. Thus, Francesco opts to take Gnaghi on a road trip to "see the rest of the world." Here Francesco is determined to make the most of the life he has buried and finally find the dividing line between life and death. The two stop at a cliff and Gnaghi doubles over, seemingly dead. It is only here, during the death of Francesco’s longtime companion, does he learn what it is to be alive. "You were my best friend and I didn’t even realize it" Francesco sobs. Then, in a most miraculous event, Gnaghi is brought back from death’s grip and is given the gift of speech, and the film ends. This final evident poses a few possible explanations and even more questions. Was Gnaghi’s reanimation a "gift" from the reaper to Francesco for finally learning the meaning of life? Is Gnaghi a "returner"? The final image is purposefully open-ended, possibly to reflect the complexities and mysteries of the human, living experience.

Soavi’s final film does a most commendable and challenging thing: celebrating life through the graphic portrayal of death. It is a labyrinth of multi-layered meanings and interpretations, resembling the subject it tries to emulate: the human experience. Moreover, Dellamorte Dellamore is an anomalous concoction: a philosophical film masquerading as a zombie movie entry and thus it is not just Soavi’s most accomplished film, but one of the most accomplished of the genre. It is particularly accomplished because it does it all, delivering shocks, titillation, sardonic laughs and worthy contemplation on the human condition usually only connotated with stuffy arthouse cinema.