It Stains the Sands Red

Every so often, the zombie movie collapses from pure fatigue, and some heroic film has to come along and pull it back up. In 2016, the second feature directed solo by Colin Minihan, one half of the non-sibling Vicious Brothers (Grave Encounters), was the one that came to the rescue, giving the tired subgenre a fresh new spin in the process. The setup for tension in It Stains the Sands Red is simple enough: release a woman alone in the desert with a bloodthirsty zombie. But what no one could’ve predicted is that this premise would ultimately yield a touching buddy film.

In end-times Las Vegas, obnoxious stripper Molly (Brittany Allen) is driving with her dumbass boyfriend Nick (Merwin Mondesir) to meet some friends at an airstrip for possible escape. But the unlucky dude is soon eaten by a suit-wearing zombie, whose introduction, walking down the middle of the wide, empty road toward them, is quite striking. As Molly—now the sole remaining snack—is pursued by the threatening yet slow-moving creature, who relentlessly trails her at close range, the film becomes something of a character study of victims, both monster and mortal—a zombie humanized through the suggestion of a happy past, and a woman desensitized by a more troubled one.

The people who pop up in the story, as per usual, are often just as bad as the monsters; Molly herself is flawed, a drug addict who has abandoned her young son, but who, throughout a series of terrible incidents and impending starvation, remains resilient and alert, because hardship is nothing new for her (and the cocaine helps, too). Juan Riedinger as the zombie makes an impression, with only his bright blue eyes and grunts to express himself, but It Stains the Sands Red is owned by Brittany Allen, whose performance and character fearlessly endure while a lot is thrown Molly’s way during “a real shit week,” as she calls it. Not only has she lost her lover, but she is assaulted by two murderous could-have-been-saviors, becomes sunburnt in the extreme heat, weathers a sandstorm, gets her period (putting her bloody tampons to good use), and removes a finger. She talks to herself to stay collected, and then to the zombie as well. She insults him, playfully naming him “Smalls,” short for “small dick.” As it gets lonelier out there, Smalls’s presence becomes more comforting, their unlikely bond solidified as they officially become protective of each other. When its focus drifts away from this dynamic and toward her desire to reunite with her son, the film becomes less immersive. But because we have come to care so much about Molly, we can embrace this—even knowing that there likely can be no happy ending, there still exists the possibility of redemption.