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Dawn of the DeadOf all of George Romero’s Dead films, Dawn of the Dead is the best. Because it is the best, it is also one of the horror genre’s finest hours—the film is as terrifying as it is gruesome. It is also happens to be, for my money, the greatest commentary on American society ever made. With this late sequel to his Night of the Living Dead (1968), George Romero made his mission as a filmmaker clear: To makes statements about major American issues and events of every decade, using the metaphor of a zombie apocalypse to reflect his themes. Night was a parable concerning racism and the Civil Rights Movement in the 1960s, and it also nodded towards the Red Scare, the Hippy Movement, and male territorialism. Dawn, made eleven years later, tackles consumerism within the American public, the Vietnam War, abortion, and immigration. It also stretches Romero as a filmmaker and a storyteller, as he is now working with a decidedly higher budget, enlarging the size and scope of the problems that began in Night, and is filming his gory tale in—gasp—color! As with his first film in this series, he balances the terror and the social commentary so that we are gasping aplenty, both in terror and because we realize how correct Romero is with the relevant statements he makes about society. Today, Dawn of the Dead’s chief claim to fame is the fact that it began the brief but enthusiastic zombie/cannibalism movement of late 1970s/early 1980s cinema. Dawn’s plot concerns the recent dead rising as mindless drones, feasting on the flesh of humans. By the film’s beginning, the entire earth in under attack from the zombies, and throughout the movie, we are given graphic displays of cannibalism, severed limbs, and disembowelments. The film was such a success that a slew of mostly Italian rip-offs followed. Low-budget production companies produced quickie films that glorified sex and violence, as actors covered in dry oatmeal lurched around attacking their dimwitted victims (see my review for Lucio Fulci’s Zombie for an example of this type of schlock). That these films were popular and numerous proves two things: A) The copycat filmmakers weren’t paying attention to Romero’s themes, and they didn’t understand that Dawn of the Dead does not glorify graphic violence; rather, it uses gore as a metaphor to sadly shakes his head at American society. B) That all of Romero’s statements about desensitized morality in today’s world are tragically correct. Set in such a grim world of flesh-eating ghouls, Dawn concerns itself with four characters—two SWAT police, a traffic reporter, and his pregnant fiancé—who flee to an abandoned shopping mall and make plans lock themselves in and forget about the outside world that is being overpowered by the ever-growing zombie population. Romero’s approach to these protagonists is different from Night. In his previous film, the central characters are archetypes (the hero, the villain, the damsel-in-distress, etc.). Because of hate crimes going on in the south at the time Night was made, even these stereotypical characters and their actions against one another remained chillingly human. Dawn, on the other hand, represents a decade of apathy, confusion, and drug abuse, and Romero wisely chooses to create characters that are complete, non-stereotypical humans. They are neither heroes nor villains nor sidekicks. They are simply survivors trying to save themselves from certain death, with little concern for anyone else on the outside. Instead of choosing to search for fellow humans in need of safety, they simply forget about everyone but themselves, and live in their magical, imaginary kingdom while civilization is destroyed outside of their walls. By giving us real humans, Romero paints a startling picture of a society that has embraced Social Darwinism as a way of life, and as our “heroes” deteriorate, we remain thoroughly engaged and sympathetic towards them. Even as pregnant Fran at last asks, “What have we done to ourselves,” we wish that she’d just quit nagging the others and turn the television back on. After all, what’s the point of being concerned with what’s going on outside? We’re safe in our houses, with our entertainment and our food and our expensive furniture. The universe be damned—we’re comfortable. Wow. As with Night, Romero’s approach to his social commentary is very subtle, but at all times, he remains an artist with complete control and confidence his canvas. As road-pirates (led by Romero’s make-up artist, Tom Savini) raid the mall in the film’s third act, we despise their egoism and destruction. But as traffic reporter Stephen (David Emge) mumbles of the mall, “It’s ours. We took it,” and opens fire on the pirates, we are forced to question who has fallen into more depravity—the pirates who have no qualms about robbing and hurting the innocent, or those who have simply hidden themselves away and have forgotten about the innocent. One group we certainly cannot blame is the zombies, who only roam about the mall excitedly and eat the leftovers of the humans who seem more obsessed with destroying each other than trying to survive against the hungry dead. On that note, we have the zombies and the mall to consider. Certainly, Romero’s main focus is on American consumerism, and he uses both the creatures and the setting to make his statement. That the zombies come from every corner of American’s melting pot—from nuns to nurses to couch potatoes to Hari Krishnas—signifies that anyone is capable of turning into a mindless drone if they allow themselves to become apathetic to the world around them. The mall itself is the epitome of apathy; it is where we go to shop till we drop and indulge on all of our excess. As the zombies roam about the mall mindlessly, their dead eyes staring blankly and their shoulders hunched, it doesn’t take long to realize that sans their blue, rotting faces, the scene doesn’t look that much different from any other American mall during an after-Christmas sale. Romero also touches upon other important issues of the 1970s, among them the effects of the Vietnam War, Roe vs. Wade, and immigration. Note the nervous eyes and trembling hands of the two soldiers, which parallels post-traumatic-stress-syndrome. It’s also hard not to notice how much of the mall is covered in jungle-like trees. In addition, after Peter (Ken Foree) offers to help abort Fran’s unborn child, the subplot seems abruptly dropped, but consider Dawn’s final moments when Peter himself contemplates suicide. Is his choice—and ultimate decisions—dissimilar from the one that Fran has to face as a potential mother? And what of the opening scenes in which a SWAT team’s attempt to rescue an apartment complex filled with Cuban immigrants results in a bloodbath? The SWAT police seem to be killing more Cubans than zombies, and we are forced to conclude that the botched operation reflects American’s low regard for immigrants in the 1970s. The gore also continues to be an effective device for Romero to incorporate his themes. Certainly this is a violent film—perhaps one of the most gruesome ever made. But consider why the zombies tear the insides out of their victims, or why they take large bites out of their arteries. They are acting on instinct, and the only thing they know how to do is attack and consume. Clearly, these gruesome images are metaphors for the violent, rapid consumerism of America, and Romero uses the gore to argue that we are a society that continues to rip tear ourselves to pieces with our selfishness and disregard for one another. In my review of Night of the Living Dead, I wrote that Romero should not apologize for giving us graphic displays of violence to look upon, as long as it makes us aware of our own violent nature and our need for change. Dawn continues this tradition, only with more boldness because Romero is filming in color. The effect is ten times as stomach-churning, and ten times as relevant. Preach on, George. Preach on. But there's some cake here too, and Romero certainly relishes in eating it: All these powerful statements about American life through his film are always present, but on its simplest cinematic level, Dawn reveals entertaining film making and storytelling on its superficial level. This had to be the case, or else its message could not penetrate us the way that it does. The tension built within this mall works because it is a location that most of us can relate to, and we can see ourselves running from the dead in such a familiar location. In addition, Romero includes appropriate (and relieving) humor and light touches: How many of us haven’t wanted to slide down the banisters of an escalator, or take one of the displayed cars for a spin down the hallways? Plus, I can’t think of a location more ideal for battle against hordes of the undead; gun shops, radio equipment, and food are all in plentiful supply. If that isn’t enough, these are characters that we truly care about, trapped in situations that hold us on the edge of our seats. I’ve had dozens of viewings of Dawn of the Dead by now, yet every time that Stephen is trying to climb up that elevator shaft, aware that any moment the doors will open and countless zombies will pour in, I honestly don’t know if he’s going to make it or not. By the film’s end, we have gripped our chair in fright, jumped in surprise, laughed at the humor, cried at the despair, and have been knocked upside the head with powerful statements about American life that will leave us walking away absolutely stunned and enlightened. What more could anyone ever want out of a movie? Dawn of the Dead is a masterpiece, and it establishes George Romero as one of America’s most talented film directors and social philosophers. AKA: Dawn of the Living
Dead, Zombi, Zombi: Dawn of the Dead.
Cast: A Laurel Group Production.
Written and directed by George A. Romero. No M.P.A.A. rating,
but contains images of extreme gore and some language. Running
time: 126 minutes. Original United States release date: May 24,
1979. Questions? Comments? E-mail me: danel_the_tinman@hotmail.com |
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