‘Queens of the Dead’ review: Tina Romero queers the zombie film, exuberantly

“They're coming for you, Barbara” is the most famous line from the 1968 revolutionary song. “Night of the Living Dead.” This mean-spirited taunt comes from a brother or sister unaware that civilization is collapsing around him. In a few moments, his sister will be running barefoot across a field from undead zombies (terms the film never uses because it's ahead of its time), and any impressions of Boris Karloff will be quickly forgotten.

The line also sounds surprisingly comfortable coming from the mouth of a drag queen—one of the many aspects of the shadow represented in the generously funny and poignant “Queens of the Dead.” The film is directed and co-written by 42-year-old Tina Romero, daughter of George Romero, the progenitor of “The Night”, whose death in 2017 was met with the belated cultural praise usually reserved for Oscar winners.

Tina Romero understands her father's legacy better than anyone. It's not just about getting a bunch of survivors squabbling inside a besieged place (here a converted warehouse in Bushwick) while the outside world goes to hell. (Added to the film's bona fides, legendary makeup artist Tom Savini makes a cameo appearance as the town's mayor on TV: “This is not a George Romero movie,” he warns.) Astutely, Queens of the Dead also highlights deeper meanings that gore-obsessed knockoffs sometimes miss: the idea that working together across differences is harder than it seems. and perhaps the monster is already calling from inside the house.

Pink and kinky so aggressively that only a pedant wouldn't find a modicum of RuPaul-related pleasure in it, Queens star Katie O'Brien, last seen as Kristen Stewart's sculpted object of desire in “Love lies that bleed.” Here, O'Brien has much more to do emotionally as Dre, a wannabe impresario with big dreams for her drag event Yum, even as her appeal continues to fade and her target audience of influencers is in the process of turning into bumbling carnivores. (They're still clinging to their cell phones, a nice touch.)

Inside the makeshift club—the dressing room, bar, and dance halls that will be featured later—tension is rising, and Dre has his hands full. Jincy (Nina West), a hard-working diva, holds down the fort while untrustworthy protégé Sam (Jacquel Spivey) chooses this moment to show up and ruffle feathers. Unsatisfied with the second billing, the young queen (Thomas Matos) insists on being called Magnificent, while a gruff and helpful handyman named Barry (Quincy Dunn-Baker, a clever inclusion among George Romero's line of workers) tries to keep all the pronouns straight.

With confidence, Tina Romero makes room for a wonderfully silly makeup montage and a daring escape across the Pride Parade float. If a comedy overcompensates for this by landing every joke, then good on you. It's long overdue, and there's something moving about the idea that the end of the world can bring out the leadership qualities of those who had it tough in the old world.

But a film this well made and cut (Aden Hakimi's quick editing is reminiscent of the way the elder Romero cut his major films) shouldn't be relegated to just one category of audience. Anyone who appreciates horror should find something to smile about here. Perhaps this is a subplot – as sweet as a worn-out pair of shoes – about Dre's wife, Lizzie (Riki Lindhome), a hospital nurse speeding around town in an old Impala.

Or, like in zombie movies, a game-changing character appears midway through the movie and synth music plays. Here Margaret Cho speeds through a cloud of exhaust fumes on a motor scooter. “You all look healthy enough,” she throws back, an aspiring action hero. And yes, it's as exciting as it sounds.