It never really found its audience up in Canada during its theatrical run; a case of no marketing or opening against Watchmen, or simply baffling audiences? And things look tough in the US, as it is only opening on a single lonesome screen against the audience friendly, ad-blitzed and marquee Drag Me To Hell. Yet we love Bruce McDonald's semiotic zombie (er, conversationalist!) headscratcher Pontypool a lot, and wish to see it finds its audience at the Box Office, or in the case of IFCs day-and-date release, with VOD.

I have seen this film almost half a dozen times now, yes folks, it is that good. It takes the overstuffed zombie sub-genre and turns it on its ear (literally). Yes, ladies and gents, this is the first ‘talk radio’ zombie picture, a film in which so little is actually shown on screen, the viewer is left questioning (for much of the films runtime) whether or not the attacks are even real. Violence and intestine pulling gore are replaced with a plethora of science fiction and social ideas which are very much to the pictures benefit. Like Vincenzo Natali‘s single room sci-fi/horror picture Cube, keeping the visuals to a minimum lets the minds eye soar with the strange questions and possibilities raised here. What communication mechanisms cause raving mobs to spontaneously form? What is the difference between hearing and understanding? Is language itself a virus? Can talk radio save the world or is it really the pestilence? That the titular Pontypool (besides being a small Ontario town, is itself an interesting linguistic confection) wears its brains on its sleeve, in no way makes it less of a thriller, or for that matter, a great actor showcase (McHattie tears up the screen). Bruce McDonald and screenwriter Tony Burgess (from his own novel) inject a surprising amount of playfulness along the way without diminishing the pictures full impact. As genre flicks go, Pontypool is the full package deal."

Here is Todd's initial thoughts on the film mixed with his own personal experience " It was at a big frosh week event at university. Pretty much hating all things frosh I was lurking about the outer edges of a large open quad packed full with hundreds more drunken, teenage students than it could reasonably asked to hold when someone at the far end of the quad - for reasons I’ll never know - started waving his hands over his head and chanting out “Fuck you!” over and over again. From my vantage point I watched as the chant took hold and spread out from that one point, rolling out like a wave, sweeping up everybody in its path, washing away hundreds of individuals as those two simple words fused the lot of them into a single minded mob. I would later study a bit of language theory - at one point I considered doing grad work on how language physically alters the brain - but nothing has ever wiped away my shock at the overwhelming power of plain, simple words when applied in the right context. This is the horror of Pontypool."