Certain films unexpectedly have an impact when they are released. As much as big Hollywood studios would like to think they’ve cracked the formula on that, they never will. Real breakthrough movies are always a surprise; they can’t be predicted by a focus group. Night of the Living Dead is one of these films. I don’t think it’s a particularly fantastic movie, but there is no denying the cultural impact it has and continues to have. Before this film, zombies were associated with voodoo and were often seen as a singular threat rather than a horde. Funnily, this film never uses the term “zombie” to refer to the monsters. Instead, they are called “ghouls,” and their origins are hinted to be associated with a recent space exploration mission that brought back some strange cosmic energy.
Barbara and her brother Johnny drive to a cemetery in rural Pennsylvania to pay respects to their father’s grave. A pale man in a tattered suit approaches them and kills Johnny while trying to attack Barbara. She flees to a nearby farmhouse where the ghouls surround the place. As all hope seems lost, Ben arrives, a proactive man who wants to figure out an escape route. Ben and Barbara discover a group of people who have been hiding in the basement, early victims of this strange and sudden attack. The news tells them the authorities are marching across the county, killing the monsters in their wake. They have a chance if this group of survivors can make it through the night. But that’s easier said than done.
George Romero and his collaborators mainly produced industrial films and television commercials but had filmmaking aspirations. They bounced around several ideas, most of which were too expensive to make convincing with the budget available, so they settled for a concept that would involve minimal special effects. With $110k ($999 in today’s dollars), Romero and his crew headed to rural Pennsylvania to shoot the picture. The most revolutionary thing about the film was having a Black protagonist who was more intelligent than the panicked white folks he was trying to save. I give Romero big props for that inclusion.
One of the challenges when reviewing a film like this, which has had such a profound influence, is that the new things it did at the time are widely accepted in the film industry now. Similar pictures were often cornball, B-flicks with clunky costumes, and special effects. The starkness of NLD is what sets it apart. There’s a profound nihilistic tone to the picture, that no matter how much these people fight, they are probably going to die anyway. They are up against a force of nature that they don’t understand, much less can effectively fight against. My favorite horror is the hopeless type, and this one fits the bill. The alien origins of the ghoul plague also hint at Lovecraftian threats. I was delighted that the film ended on such a bleak note with few answers.
What hurts the film are those rough edges. I see how fans of cruder films might enjoy that aspect. I’m more impressed when a filmmaker can hide the low budget. The actors here are fairly stock performers. Matched with a pretty stiff script, they are doing their best with what they have. On set, a lot of improvisation was used, and I think you can tell which actors are and are not comfortable with that. The interactions involve a lot of yelling while delivering exposition, which I noticed was ever-present in Day of the Dead as well (full disclosure: I have only seen Zack Snyder’s Dawn of the Dead remake). It reminded me of films where I’ve seen that trope done better see The Thing and Aliens.
I have to applaud the film for how graphic it gets. By today’s standards, the violence is quaint, but in 1968, it was in a movie that was likely seen by many young children (as Roger Ebert’s hilarious review recounts). The first significant attempt to escape the truck and gas pump set piece is a powerful signal that this movie is not one where the good guys win. A teenage couple ends up exploding in a petrol-fuelled fire and then have their roasted corpses munched on by the gathered ghouls. The camera lingers on images of actors in zombie make-up playing with and gnawing on animal parts gathered from a local butcher by the crew. It’s pretty harrowing, given the time and context.
Even bleaker is the little girl turned into one of the monsters from a bite who proceeds to stab her mother to death with a trowel. The film doesn’t let us escape this moment and the taboo nature of matricide. Romero presents it in the full horror it deserves. The family unit is torn apart by this obscenity of the dead rising and walking the Earth. What’s interesting are the early news reports where it’s being reported as a strange outburst of homicidal behavior across the country. It had me wondering if anyone would notice a subtle uptick of violence via zombies when compared to the ambient violence that seems to have a death grip on the States.
I don’t see myself rewatching this picture any time soon. Seeing it once to have the context of its historical importance seems like enough. Zombies, like vampires, are not really my cup of tea. I enjoy the hell out of 1985’s Return of the Living Dead, a completely nutso horror comedy. Otherwise, the zombie feels like a rather dull threat. The frenzy zombies of 28 Days Later are a different story, but Romero’s ghouls seem manageable if you don’t get overwhelmed by the sheer numbers. I also see connections between this film and Tobe Hooper’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre, another low-budget horror film that makes things even bleaker by presenting the monsters as folks just like us. We can safely say the world of horror cinema would be less without Romero’s contributions.
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