Fifty years saw arguably the birth of modern horror as we
understand it—or at least, the transition between the relatively restricted
old-timey pieces of the fifties to the blunt-hitting gore that rose in the late
sixties and soon the seventies. And from this film also came the shambling,
never-dying, all too appropriately immortal subgenre of the zombie film. Walking
Dead? Resident Evil? Eleventy billion cheap-ass knockoffs to slick Hollywood
productions? They all began with a humble 1968 piece from the late great George
Romero, Night of the Living Dead.
Compared to its successor Dawn of the Dead, forty years now
incidentally, the film can feel somewhat hokey—but perhaps it’s the drab black
and white colors, the gloomy Pennsylvania scenery, and the resultant necessary
focus on the character interactions themselves, that honestly makes me somewhat
prefer Night to Dawn. It’s not supremely gory by today’s standards, but that
also helps it avoid some of the excess that other zombie films fell into. When
someone cracks their skull, their eyes roll in and they just keel over, like
you actually would.
The film is also an interesting look into the zeitgeist of
the time. The sixties were certainly turbulent, at least just as much as times
are now, with the US and the world changing and doing so rather painfully. Between
racial strife and cultural shifts, things were never certain again, and in many
ways, Romero offered a little glimpse into that. The film offers an
African-American, played by Duane Jones, largely taking charge of the situation—definitely something
you didn’t see much in such films at the time, and also represents another way
the film shifts over from titles in the past that hoped not to offend too many ‘morals’
in the land.
Like Dawn of the Dead, the film has some flaws beyond the
passage of time or the budget—there’s a few moments where the film stops to watch
a radio or television piece giving exposition. At least, however, it builds
into something, as compared to the pace-halting moments in Dawn where the
characters just sit around idling. Barbara herself, played by Judith O'Dea, one of the main characters
to be introduced, doesn’t really end up being fully fleshed out and largely
sits around in shock for much of it, which feels a bit of a letdown.
Still, despite being the progenitor of the zombie subgenre,
the film also goes on to subvert much of the things we take for granted over
it. The characters don’t go on vast zombie killing sprees with improvized weapons
or anything like that to fulfil a survival fantasy—no, it’s a challenge just to
get into a vehicle. Arguments and stress break things apart, and it’s difficult
just to move when you’ve got an injured person. The zombies themselves also don’t
cause the instant evaporation of authority and government, somehow—possess and
National Guard roam the hills mopping them up.
And that leads into the ending—suitably dark, but hits you
nice and hard, and let’s just say still feels very poignant and relevant now.
The future of George Romero’s career would be a mixed one.
Dawn and Day of the Dead were definite successes but his comeback in the 2000s was
met with much less consistent reception. And, of course, the zombie plague he
unleashed onto popular media would be one that would never die, thus
solidifying him as one who let his indelible mark on popular culture. But it
all started with this one little independent horror flick—one that’s still enjoyable
macabre to this day.
Give it a watch, and Happy Halloween.
Comments
Post a Comment