Every marriage has its rough patches. Some couples argue over money. Others squabble about in-laws. And then there are Denise and Danny, who hit that awkward “my husband vomited black goo into his own mouth and is now chewing through our social circle” phase. You know, the relatable kind of problem.
David Gebroe’s Zombie Honeymoon bills itself as a heartfelt, tragic love story dressed in rotting flesh. What it actually is: a Jersey Shore soap opera that gets hijacked by a dollar-store George Romero knockoff. The result is neither terrifying nor romantic. It’s the cinematic equivalent of someone reading their LiveJournal breakup posts aloud while smearing ketchup on their shirt and groaning like a zombie.
The Premise: Death Becomes Him
The movie begins with Denise and Danny, fresh-faced newlyweds ready to live happily ever after—or at least until the first deposit clears on their Portugal relocation plan. Their idyllic beach honeymoon is interrupted when a waterlogged drifter staggers out of the ocean and projectile-vomits tar into Danny’s mouth. Now, most women would take this as a sign from the universe that their marriage is doomed. Denise, however, simply shrugs and says, “In sickness and in health,” while dialing 911.
Danny promptly dies in the hospital, only to wake up five minutes later because apparently CPR is optional when you’re starring in a zombie film. At first, his transformation is subtle: pale skin, a craving for meat, and the general vibe of a vegan who just discovered bacon. But soon the compulsive cannibalism kicks in, and suddenly their honeymoon itinerary changes from “Portugal wine tour” to “cover up my husband’s body count and try not to vomit.”
The Romance Angle: Fifty Shades of Necrosis
The central conceit is that Denise loves Danny so much she can’t abandon him, even when he’s murdering friends and dripping viscous goo like a broken faucet. She dutifully cleans up after his messes, forgives him for snacking on their pals, and still tries to cuddle with him despite the fact that half his jaw looks like it’s going through foreclosure.
This is supposed to be poignant. Instead, it plays like a PSA warning young women not to settle. Denise isn’t a devoted wife—she’s an enabler with Stockholm Syndrome. It’s one thing to forgive your husband for leaving socks on the floor. It’s another to forgive him for tearing out your best friend’s liver because he “just couldn’t help himself.”
By the time Danny lunges at her with intent to pass along his zombie STD, the audience is practically screaming, “Girl, RUN. Tinder exists. You can do better.”
The Gore: Diet Splatter
For a horror film, the gore budget seems to have been capped at “Halloween store clearance bin.” The kills are clumsy, often off-screen, and when we do see blood, it has the consistency of cherry Kool-Aid left in the sun. For a movie about a man who devours his acquaintances, it feels suspiciously… polite.
You’d think a film literally titled Zombie Honeymoon would go all in on campy splatter. Instead, it’s as though the director wanted to protect our delicate sensibilities. Newsflash: if you can sit through Fulci’s Zombie, you can handle a ribcage buffet. Instead, we get awkward bites, cheap makeup, and a lot of Denise sighing dramatically while scrubbing blood out of bedsheets. Riveting.
The Acting: Newlyweds, Meet Community Theater
Tracy Coogan (Denise) and Graham Sibley (Danny) give it their all, bless them, but it’s hard to sell lines like, “Honey, please stop eating my friends” with a straight face. Coogan spends most of the runtime doing the wide-eyed, trembling-lip routine, while Sibley lurches between “boyishly charming” and “hungry Labrador with mange.”
The supporting cast barely registers, mostly because they exist solely to be eaten. They pop in, say something vaguely cheerful, then get devoured faster than appetizers at a wedding reception. By the halfway point, you stop remembering names and just refer to them as “Next Course.”
The Symbolism: Subtle As a Brick
According to the director, the whole film is an allegory for grief, love, and the inevitability of loss. That’s touching—on paper. On screen, however, it translates to “zombies are metaphors, so clap.”
Danny’s flesh falling apart is supposed to mirror the slow decay of a loved one. His hunger represents the uncontrollable pull of death. Denise’s refusal to leave him symbolizes eternal devotion. But instead of feeling moved, you just feel like you accidentally wandered into a student film thesis project titled Love in the Time of Cannibalism.
The Ending: Honeymoon’s Over
By the climax, Danny has killed enough people to qualify for his own true-crime podcast. He finally tries to bite Denise, but in a rare flash of restraint, he spares her. He apologizes, collapses, and dies (again). Denise gently disposes of his body, stares wistfully at their Portugal tickets, and probably wonders how refundable airfare is when your spouse eats half your bridal party.
It’s meant to be heartbreaking. Instead, it lands like the end of a Lifetime movie directed by Ed Wood. You don’t cry. You just think, “Well, at least now she can date someone who doesn’t belch tar.”
Production Value: Death by Shoestring
Shot on what looks like two camcorders and a fistful of nickels, Zombie Honeymoon oozes “independent” in the worst way. Lighting ranges from “too dim to see” to “blinding halogen spotlight.” Sound quality fluctuates like a bad Zoom call. The zombie makeup is passable only if you’ve never seen an episode of The Walking Dead or even a middle school Halloween play.
The soundtrack? Imagine royalty-free dirges that scream, “We couldn’t afford Danny Elfman, so here’s his cousin Frank with a Casio keyboard.”
The Verdict: Love Bites (and So Does This Movie)
Zombie Honeymoon wants to be profound. It wants to make you weep for Denise’s loss and contemplate the fragility of love in a cruel world. Instead, it makes you check your watch and wonder if Netflix has better options involving people being eaten. Spoiler: it does.
There’s an idea buried somewhere in the sludge: that love can endure even in the face of grotesque change. But it’s drowned by weak execution, laughable gore, and the sheer absurdity of watching a woman choose to stay with her corpse-eating husband because “true love never dies.”
If you’re looking for a romantic horror film, try Let the Right One In. If you’re looking for zombie comedy, go watch Shaun of the Dead. And if you’re looking for both romance and comedy, you could do worse than a Nicholas Sparks adaptation—though, frankly, even The Notebook would be improved if Ryan Gosling occasionally ate a bridesmaid.
