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Night of the Living Dead
I would love to have been a fly on the wall in any given Southern U.S. theater house as George Romero's Night of the Living Dead played. No doubt, southern white men were nodding their heads in approval in the opening scenes, in which a damsel-in-distress flees from a flesh-eating zombie into an abandoned farm house, searching for a hero to rescue her. What would I give to see the audience's surprise when that hero turns out to be a brave, resourceful black man. No doubt most southern theater houses had plenty of people writhing in their seats, and not just because of the graphic depictions of cannibalism and eerie, hungry ghouls: Romero's classic horror film was the first of its kind to feature an African American hero, and the choice of casting in light of the film that surround it is only one of dozens of subtle and brilliant commentaries on 1960s American society that Romero makes. Of course, I am sure that the above assumption is politically incorrect and potentially offensive to southern white males, as probably not all of them were racist when this film first appeared. Tell that to Ben (Duane Jones), the film’s hero, when racist Harry (Karl Hardman) locks him outside to be eaten by the hungry dead. This film is about stereotypes, as all social commentaries must be in order to make their case. Romero creates one-sided, black-and-white characters who reflect the different mind-frames of the 1960s yet remain somehow just as human as you or I. It's probably a scary enough reflection of racism that Romero can reduce his characters to abstractions but still make them authentic--not that the film isn't scary enough as it is. In any case, what cannot be denied is that no other issue was as prevalent or as important in the southern states of the 1960s than the civil rights movement. That Night of the Living Dead was released the same year as Martin Luther King's assassination indicates that the controversy surrounding race issues were far from winding down, and Romero's film must have been shocking and jarring for its underlining theme of race relations, particularly because no one would have expected it from a movie with such a trashy, drive-in-theater title. Which, of course, reflects Romero's brilliance as a filmmaker who makes no apologies for his hit-them-below-the-belt style. Only Dennis Hopper's Easy Rider can compare to the outrage that this film reflects over the 1960s, with its own vision of urban decay and a society that is literally tearing itself apart. The different between the two filmmakers is that Romero takes these metaphors and makes them literal. Allegory aside, the film generates some powerful claustrophobic terror as its human characters battle against hordes of the walking dead. The idea of our neighbors and loved ones being transformed into ravenous zombies is a premise that is certainly capable of conjuring up chills, and Romero does not shy away from giving us a film that soaks in pure, relentless horror. Rare is a film that can balance entertainment with important statements and morals as well as Romero does here. Nearly every shot and line of dialogue can be taken as a double meaning--on the surface, solid horror; on the underlining themes, a dark look at human nature. The plotline itself is enough to generate shivers just when described--seven people are barricaded in a farmhouse for a night while the living dead gather in number and power outside, waiting for the opportunity to break in and eat the flesh of these living persons. Within this house, the humans are at odds: Ben believes that staying inside the house and boarding up the doors and windows is the best plan. Harry believes that the cellar is the safest place; even though there is no way out should the dead break in. The other characters, which include teenager Tom, (Keith Wayne), his girlfriend Judy (Judith Ridley), basket-case Barbara (Judith O’Dea), Harry’s wife Helen (Marilyn Eastman), and their wounded daughter Karen (Kyra Schon), are more or less divided between the two views, which boils down to Harry’s refusal to listen to Ben’s logic because of his bigotry. From my understanding, Romero insisted that the actor who played Ben be black, though during the course of the film, Ben’s race is never discussed. At first glance, perhaps we think that any actor, black or white, could have played the part, but imagine for one moment how it must have sounded in 1968 when Ben glares at Harry defiantly and announces, “You’re boss down there, and I’m boss up here.” Romero’s approach to the racial tension is subtle, but the implication only makes his film all the more daring. Because of the racial tension in the United States, Harry’s clear dismissal of Ben would not have been a surprise when the film was first released. Ben’s fight back, however, must have packed quite a wallop to those who expected blacks in America to be submissive, especially in a movie from a white director. As Ben and Harry continue to be at odds, the others trapped in the house remain for the most part unable to decide between each man’s viewpoints, as the dead increase in numbers outside. This makes for terrific tension, and the underlining theme is clear: In 1960s, Southern white America was its own the worst enemy. As it refused to tolerate people of color, or as it stood by and watched indecisively, hate and pain built up around the south and made barriers that were nearly impossible to overcome. By the time the characters all realize that they have to work together in order to survive, it is too late, and the plan devised for survival are botched, because no one has been thinking clearly up to that point and the situation has gotten too out of control. The fate of the characters is Romero’s warning to the United States of what will happen as long as racial intolerance continues to build and grow. In all of his Dead films, Romero concludes with humans shooting at each other while the dead swarm around them. The point? We are destroying ourselves, and the hungry dead are only reaping the benefits of what we do to one another. But Night of the Living Dead contains even more layers than racial tension: It also makes statements about most of the prevalent social issues from its decade, including male territorialism, the Red Scare, and the hippy movement. After a while, Ben and Harry sound like two adolescents battling to be king of the mountain. Consider also the zombies themselves. They are us, stripped down into thoughtless drones with only the urge to consume. Read that last sentence out of context, and I could be describing any average American obsessed with watching their favorite shows and living a lifestyle no different than what the media gives us. Consider also the false sense of security within the boarded up house, and how quickly the zombies nevertheless manage to infiltrate. On the same note, how helpful would a bomb shelter really have been against the potential devastation of the Cuban Missile Crisis? What about the thoughtlessness of the youths in the film, and how quickly they throw their lives into the wind? What could Romero be saying about the teenagers of the 1960’s, who experimented with drugs and free-love? The possibilities are endless, and it is all here. The final scene also takes us back to Romero’s main focus of the film, as it plays upon racial stereotypes. The last shot comes in the form of a photograph, and it is a chilling reminder of atrocities that were committed against blacks in America who took a stand against oppression. In fact, the image could have been lifted from any newspaper from the Civil Rights era. A word must also be said about the film’s graphic violence. How can I justify grotesque images of zombies tearing pieces out of severed arms and fighting over loose entrails? Simple: The violent images only add to the film's many metaphors, and they remind us that social decline in America is no joke. As the undead fight one another for bits and pieces of human flesh, we are forced to remember that consumers are never satisfied, and that every day, Americans literally tear each other apart in selfishness and hate. Personally, no gore in any of Romero’s Dead films has ever been offensive to me. Rather, when I see what it meant to represent, I became offended at the truths Romero has realized, and that it has taken a low-budget horror movie to make me aware of what has happened to my society. If it takes intense gore to make the viewer aware of their own moral depravity, use it. In fact, use it in bucketloads, and never apologize or look back! Romero
doesn't apologize, and he has no reason to. His gift as a filmmaker
is not simply to create terrifying images of monsters, which are
undoubtedly terrifying—he is also capable of forcing the
viewer to look inside of himself, and consider the monster that
his society has made out of him. The result is a film that has
stood the test of time as not only one of the greatest shock-films
ever made, but as one of the most startling commentaries about
society. Both qualify this film as one of the most horrifying
ever made. Cast: A Laurel Films Production. Directed by George A. Romero. Written by John Russo and Romero. No M.P.A.A. rating (contains brief language and graphic violence). Running time: 96 minutes. Original United States release date: October 1, 1968. Questions? Comments? E-mail me: danel_the_tinman@hotmail.com |
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