Before the invention of the moving image, there was “obeah literature,” a colonial literary genre that was essentially the 17th, 18th, and 19th century equivalent of the 20th century American “voodoo” horror movie. Lumping together culturally distinct spiritualities, these stories, in both their literary and cinematic forms, are unified across time and medium by one defining feature: an overt demonization of their Black characters and African religions alike, a sentiment encapsulated in the double entendre “black magic.”
The stories and images of Black monstrosity and so-called “devil worship” that populated films like Black Moon (1934), The Love Wanga (1936), Voodoo Woman (1957), and I Eat Your Skin (1971) has served to justify the barbarities inflicted against the people of the Caribbean islands right up to the present day. Even the word itself, Caribbean, has its etymological roots in the Spanish caribal, or cannibal.
In her debut feature documentary, Black Zombie, writer-director Maya Annik Bedward sets out to excavate the long-buried history of the zombie monster. Beginning with the first American zombie film, White Zombie (1932), Bedward reintroduces viewers to this seemingly familiar figure, returning to its origins in 18th century Haiti—then, a French penal colony known as Saint Domingo–before the Haitian Revolution changed the course of human history.
At home, the zombie is not the same mindless consumer American horror films have transformed them into. It is still an undead and undying corpse, emptied of soul and self. But rather than being hellbent on consumption, they are simply empty; driven by a priest or sorcerer and forced to do their bidding in perpetuity. The zombie is, in other words, a slave. And not just a slave, but the realization of enslavement’s ultimate goal: a laborer who labors forever. No needs, no thoughts, no escape.
Featuring commentary from horror creators Tananarive Due, Tom Savini, and Zandashé Brown, practitioners, Yves-Grégory Francois, Erol Josué, and Mambo Labelle Déese Botanica, and legendary Haitian-American guitarist, Slash, Bedward presents the interlocking stories of Haitian history, Vodou, and the zombie with Haitian voices at the center.
With Black Zombie now playing in the US, FANGORIA sat down with Bedward to discuss her journey to making the film, and her hopes for the future of the genre. This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
Do you remember the first zombie film that had a real impact on you?
I think the earliest memory of a zombie film [that] I have is 28 Days Later. I wouldn’t say that it had a huge impact on me. Zombie films never really had a huge impact on me until I learned its roots and then that kind of really blew my mind, like where it came from and how different the current zombie landscape is. So the very first zombie film that really impacted me was probably I Walked With A Zombie while doing research for [Black Zombie]. That film, as problematic as it is, also deals with the colonial history of Haiti and the way that erodes this wealthy English family. There’s a lot of layers that I thought were quite unexpected in a film from that era.
So it was the discovery of that history led you to make Black Zombie?
Totally. In terms of horror, zombie films never really connected with me. I always kind of didn’t understand their motivations, and I’m not really into post-apocalyptic kind of films and that’s where a lot of the zombie films lie, at least most recently. I’ve always been very interested in learning more about my history and culture, and the history of Black people in the Americas that predates slavery, and the culture and knowledge that has come across with our ancestors and has been preserved here. And a lot of that is housed in traditional spiritual practices. That’s where a lot of that history and knowledge continues to live. So I’ve always been trying to learn more about Vodou, Candombe, Santeria, and Obeah.
Then, when I found out the zombie had its connections to Vodou, I was just mind blown. I couldn’t believe I didn’t know. And the more I learned about that story and how it was brought to Hollywood, the more I just thought it was incredible that it wasn’t well known. And this is such a great example of how, when a culture is taken and misrepresented, the harmful effects of that. Early Hollywood zombie films have created a lot of the misunderstandings we have today about Vodou. It’s why we think it’s synonymous with “black magic.”
When did you start actually writing it?
It’s been over 10 years. When I first learned this story, I was immediately grabbed and [felt] like I need to learn more. I think it’s been 12 or 13 years.
Tell me about the preparation and experience of shooting in Haiti
So we went to Haiti first for research. I wanted to connect with the community and practitioners there and find the right people to be the central voices of the story. We went specifically for Rara, which happens around Easter, and this was 2018 or 2019, and that’s when I met Yves-Grégory and we spent a lot of time just talking and hanging out. I only shot for two days with the Haitian crew that I met down there as well. We went to the Rara and we spoke a lot about how both of us have been raised to hate a lot of African cultural practices, or to be afraid of them even. He was raised Catholic and made to be afraid of Vodou and it wasn’t until he became an adult that he became a practitioner so [those conversations] were amazing. The crew [we] worked with was amazing.
After that, when we finally raised the funds to make the film, it was March 2020 and the pandemic hit so we had to halt production for a while. Then, unfortunately, the president of Haiti got assassinated and that was a really horrible event that made an already touch and go situation more difficult. Even in Jacmel, where Yves-Grégory is from, usually things are unstable in Port-au-Prince but Jacmel’s pretty chill. But when that happened, a lot of violence ensued, there were curfews and generally you couldn’t be out in the streets. So a lot of these festivities that we were hoping to shoot, and just for the general well-being of Yves-Grégory and all of our crew, we just didn’t want to have fancy cameras on the street jeopardizing everyone’s safety.
So we basically shot everything else. I was traveling around getting interviews everywhere else, shooting as much as I could [while] waiting to go back to Haiti. I really wanted to elevate the production value. Get a really nice camera and show these incredible events in a very different light than how you usually see Haiti.
You really captured the beauty of the island.
Thank you. It was a challenge. In the end, we were never able to go back and it was really sad. One of the saddest things in making this film for me is that I had to finally make the call because we had to finish the film. I was like, well, where can we shoot Yves-Grégory and Erol and all of our Haitian contributors and also work with the Haitian crew who I wanted to continue with? So we had to move to the Dominican Republic, which was a hard call to make because of the relationship between those two countries and how the Dominican Republic really mistreats Haitian migrants and the racism around that.
Luckily, we found an amazing team in the Dominican Republic. They’re Afro-Dominican and really dedicated to the safety and care of everyone. So a lot of the bigger events are in Haiti but the more intimate moments–[like when] we went to a priestess’ temple in her house–that was actually in the Dominican Republic. But it’s the same island, the same history. They just like to think it’s different. So all those recreation [scenes] were shot in the Dominican Republic but the Haitian crew was there and they actually shot all the BTS, which was awesome. Yves-Grégory helped me mount the whole production. So yeah, it was unfortunate but I think we made the best of it that we could.
The film approaches the zombie as a metaphor for slavery. How do you connect that past to present material conditions of industry and labor?
I’ve had people challenge me and say, oh, well, the zombie can be a metaphor for many different things. Genuinely, it’s about a loss of agency. And I think that stems from its roots. People love to be like, well, zombies can also be about capitalism. Look at Shaun of the Dead! And I’m like, yes, but capitalism is about labor. And what is slavery? [Unpaid] labor. It’s all still connected.
I was thrilled to see filmmaker Zandashé Brown featured. Were you familiar with her work? How did you two connect?
I always knew I wanted to feature a Black filmmaker that makes horror because I wanted to explore what the future could be and I was really lucky. I got introduced to her through someone in the film community. Not only did she work in the horror space and also was from Louisiana and based in New Orleans at the time, which I feel had so many connections to different texts in the film like Live and Let Die, but also she too was going through this journey of reconnection and learning about her culture and her roots and exploring different evolutions of Vodou happening in New Orleans at that time. Really, for her, it’s a lot about ancestral veneration, which is a huge interesting theme for me.
So I met with her and she was just so insightful. Like I could talk to her for three days. What she had to say just hit all the [notes] that I was trying to explore and figure out with this film. She was one of the last people that I actually interviewed. We just had this great conversation and then I was able to follow her [during] that veneration procession in New Orleans, and it happened the same time Halloween was happening, so it was crazy, the contrast between the two. Yeah, it was very special that I got that opportunity to connect with her.
Tell me about the editing process. How did you approach structuring the interwoven histories of horror, of Haiti, and the zombie, which all overlap but are distinct?
That was a journey, the editing process, for sure. I think I very much knew what I wanted but didn’t know how to get there. This is my first feature and because it did take so long, I’m very grateful that I was able to grow in that space as a filmmaker and make a lot of other work which I think only supported and helped my filmmaking for Black Zombie. So I’m now looking back very grateful for the time I had to really be able to get the film where I wanted it to be. But it was a really huge challenge.
For me, this film was really about this history and what’s happening to Vodou and to Haiti and the consequences of that. But it’s also about zombies. And I want as many people as possible to watch, so I need to make it entertaining and I need to lean on the zombies to pull people in. But I want them to learn all this important history and information, so how do I balance those two? And that was a huge struggle throughout. Often people tell me, you’re trying to do too much, Maya. It has to be one film or the other. So I’m pretty happy with [the place] we got it too but it definitely took awhile.
Was there anything that didn’t make it into the final cut that you wish you had the time and space for?
Well, I always say Get Out is a true zombie film in the spirit of the Haitian zombie, and that came out while I was making the film. I actually had a whole scene of us looking at Get Out as a zombie film and how the ending of Get Out changed and was originally inspired by the ending of Night of the Living Dead. And there was a whole piece on that but it wasn’t working. Quite frankly, I really wanted Jordan Peele in the film and he said no, so I wasn’t able to really make that scene work. I hope he sees the film and I hope he likes it. I also really love Mati Diop’s Atlantics. To me, that is such an incredible zombie film.
Something I sense you grappling with in the documentary are the tensions that stem from having to profess or declare one’s humanity to an audience, some of whom are deeply invested in maintaining their perception of you as a monster. Can you speak to that tension?
I interviewed Yves-Grégory back in 2019 in Haiti, and then I interviewed him in the Dominican Republic again. And in between every take, he was on his phone making sure his family was okay. He was just under so much stress because things were so unstable. And like, yes, we need to stop misrepresenting the zombie and misrepresenting Vodou and be more critical of what we watch. But like, the dire consequences of this are just so big and so astronomical and I’m just thinking about what’s happening to Haiti today. It’s like, how do we get to a place where everyone’s humanity is acknowledged and respected and everyone has the ability to live a dignified life? I really do think culture is a form of hard power. And for us to change course requires an acknowledgement and a better learning of who we are and our history.
Black Zombie is now playing in the US, with UK and Australia release dates to follow.
