Night of the Living Dead (1968)
Here it is. The original. The film that created the modern zombie, spawned multiple sequels, and an entire subgenre of spin-offs, 1968’s Night of the Living Dead. Pittsburgh’s George A. Romero, and his production company, The Latent Image, were busy making commercials for Iron Beer and Calgon, and opted to invest in a 35mm Arriflex camera to up their game. What resulted is maybe the most important and influential independent movie ever made.
The positive effects of horror can often be found in its covert warning signs and cautionary tales. Romero felt the Richard Matheson novel, I Am Legend, was about revolution. This was the angry ’60s – Vietnam, the civil rights movement, social justice riots, and overt racism still prevalent in America. In Night, Duane Jones stars as Ben – the African American conduit for Romero’s political discourse (although he was reluctant to admit such things). The finale is a lynching of sorts. It’s bleak, it’s hopeless, but it felt honest and of the time. It’s a self-reflexive movie, in the sense that its most quoted line, “They’re coming to get you, Barbara!” is a comment on the predictability and staleness of the horror films that preceded it. In terms of why it all occurs, Romero once stated, “God changed the rules. That’s the only explanation I need. No more room in hell.” It’s an amazing quote, isn’t it?
George Romero was 27 years old, and served as writer, cinematographer, editor, and director. It’s a little clumsy and clunky in places, looking back, but don’t forget it’s an indie film, made very cheaply. A modest budget of $114,000, meant the cast and crew actually lived in the abandoned farmhouse they rented, and all bathed in a nearby stream for the duration of the shoot. A lot of Night’s actors were also investors (two of which even volunteered to be set on fire), producers, makeup artists, or co-writers, with even Marilyn Eastman doubling up as both Helen and the eye-catching, bug-eating zombie. Romero himself even built the rubbish clay hand that gets whacked when it reaches through the slats of the makeshift barricade. The community banded together, with news helicopters, real police and their dogs all uniting in the interest of making a movie. The sound mix only existed because the guy that played Barbara’s brother beat the bloke that ran the sound studio in a chess match. Some bold lighting decisions raise its game, with Night clearly lit for black-and-white, featuring plenty of shadows and jet black areas of the frame, adding uncertainty and tension throughout.
In Night, Romero’s marauding ghouls stumble around, bumping into cars, blinded by headlights, and although they can use weapons, they don’t really try their hardest (at times) to breach the house. Some don’t exude the urgency of the first, now legendary, “Cemetery Zombie.” One lumbering zombie outside even gets caught in a clothesline. The graveyard ghoul picks up a brick, and smashes the car window. He moves fairly quickly, jogging along – certainly shambling faster than walking pace. Later this month, we’ll encounter modern, fast-moving zombies – an evolutionary zombie lore Marmite, which no doubt enhanced the immediacy of the terror, because before you know it they’re onto you. On the other hand, it depends what kind of nightmares you relate to. The slow-moving zombie approach echoes those very specific dreams where it feels like you’re trying to run through a swimming pool, and you just can’t escape whatever is chasing you. Here, Barbara has time to consider her actions, but that time is filled with dread and suspense for an audience.
Fledgling zombie film directors out there, take note! Romero rarely “directed” his zombies specifically. According to George, if you state exactly what you want actors to do, everyone mimics it and does the same. They make the same sounds, they raise the same arm, etc. If you free the actors from direction, and ask them to bring their own undead interpretations, you get all original stuff.
Scarious Artists 