My decision to watch Night of the Living Dead (NOTLD) was surprisingly fitting for mid-April. In the UK, we’d just reached what was predicted as the peak of the coronavirus which had several countries in lockdown. I drew similarities from this surreal chapter of our lives and George A. Romero’s undead apocalypse film. Like the central characters, we too were unable to leave the house for fear of infection, and secondly, we all anxiously anticipated the next announcement from the government on our televisions. This desire to learn more transformed into an essential right to know more. The TV, usually presenting to us external problems that are out of our reach, was now telling us about our own lives for a change. As much as NOTLD exclaims the importance of connection via television/media, I was reassured that the film doesn’t lament such themes. The TV acts as a tool for information rather than a metaphor about media and connection. Instead, the film is exactly what you want it to be, which is a zombie horror survival film. It’s even more upsetting and sobering when it foreshadows our current social climate when a newsreader near the beginning of the apocalypse states something along the lines of, “despite this urging of asking people to stay at work or home, highways are still packed”. Spooky.
Films I refer to/potentially spoil in this article:
- Night of the Living Dead (dir. George A. Romero, 1968)
- The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (dir. Tobe Hooper, 1974)
- Halloween (dir. John Carpenter, 1978)
I adored this movie. It’s a complete charmer. I celebrate the glory that these low-budget film successes earn, especially when they’re as well-crafted as this one. NOTLD’s plot may seem reminiscent of zombie films you’ve seen before, but the fact that these modern examples exist is no doubt paved by its existence. After we are hastily introduced to the zombie-like creatures (which we refer to most often as “ghouls”), the film almost entirely takes place within an abandoned country house somewhere in Pennsylvania. There’s no easy way out as the cannibal ghouls that roam outside the house gradually close in on their position. The house becomes increasingly claustrophobic as its inhabitants, composed of a mixed bag of survivors from different walks of life, face internal conflicts regarding how they can all escape with their lives.
The remarkable thing about NOTLD is how it manages to maintain its compelling nature even today, and even with, at times, a lack of ghouls. NOTLD is just as, and in many cases even more enthralling when the ghouls are not the active threat and instead the surviving humans are, each with their own clashing opinions. Agitated husband Harry insists that anyone who wants to try and fight the ghouls is mad, insisting that they should hide in the cellar instead, whereas lone hero Ben tells them that hiding in the cellar is a death sentence. These contradicting survival plans pose threats to each of their ideals, and their bonding morale corrodes between each wave of ghouls, the supposed calm before the next storm. A literally explosive climax is reached when Ben tries to re-enter the building after a failed mission at escape. He kicks the door down, only to see Harry standing way within reach to have let him in. Harry wanted him dead, so he could have implemented his method of survival. The beauty of this apocalypse is the random chaos that puts our characters in the same boat with boarded-up windows. It’s an early entry into the classic horror formula which, when executed well, rarely fails. The monsters are found in both the cannibalistic ghouls and in the demons that are birthed from ordinary people in out-of-the-ordinary circumstances, and when a character exposes a weakness or strength in another character’s fundamental nature, the potential for a variety of eventualities grows to become limitless.
Image Credit: Mandatory
Romero does a wonderful job at creating an enclosed atmosphere. The safehouse, despite its reassuring name, soon becomes maze-like, this effect enhanced by a stark contrast between light and dark. This juxtaposing sense of brightness is again, enhanced further by a fantastic utilisation of the Dutch Angle, a method of photography which is iconic and distinctive due to how easy it is to convey that something isn’t right, achieved simply by tilting the camera slightly sideways; it creates an imbalanced and uneasy perspective of reality. Every component in the way this film is shot is an essential counterpart, each amounting to disorienting the viewer. If I had to compare a film that is similar and equally masterful in its presentation of madness within four walls and under a roof, nearly every scene that takes place in the house from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is reminiscent of NOTLD. Like Massacre and the iconic ending of John Carpenter’s Halloween, NOTLD convinces you that there is potential danger around every corner. Paranoia is instilled in the film’s opening when we see just how dangerous just one of these ghouls can be, as the young female protagonist Barbara becomes trapped in her car by an undead who is even able to smash the window using a rock; unlike in many other variations of zombie films, here, they’re frighteningly intelligent and resourceful of the tools around them. Cleverly, Romero shows us how dangerous one of these things can be, so later when over a dozen of them plague the escape routes, you truly understand the scope and scale of the danger and are consequently able to calculate and evaluate the chance of survival. Throw into the mix a clashing assortment of characters and you have yourself a complicated formula of multiple potential outcomes, some positive and most negative.
NOTLD contains several interesting moments that make you value utilities and resources more than people in some scenes. Resources are extremely limited, and the survivors have to make do with table legs, chairs, screws and one basic rifle; they’re almost completely unequipped and at a major disadvantage for a zombie apocalypse. So, when a failed mission to fill their only car up with gas ends up in an explosion which kills a young couple, you find yourself gasping, ‘Oh s**t, the car!’ as opposed to ‘Oh s**t, the people!’ In Ben’s reaction to this inferno, no doubt is he thinking the same thing as their already risky escape plan has just become a whole lot worse. On the scale of importance, the car offered more help than the young couple ever did. Despite being helpful, they couldn’t escort the entire team to safety. The fatal mistake enhances the values of objects over people. It’s a fight for survival, and when the stakes are as high as life or death, importance and value is measured by the ability to assist in survival. The only human factor that intervenes is moral and guilt; could you kill someone to stay alive is the ultimate elephant in the room question in NOTLD. There’s no such thing as a minor inconvenience, which makes for a great, compelling viewing experience.
The ending gets its own little section of this article because of how great it is. After the entire ordeal, Ben ends up the only survivor of the team. Outside, heading towards the house approaches a gathering of townsfolk led by a somewhat practical and down-to-earth Sheriff, all of which armed to the teeth, mowing down ghouls without resistance. Ben hears this commotion coming to rescue him, and warily, no doubt scarred by the isolation and horrors he endured, stalks to the window, gun raised. Merely spotting a moving figure, one of the townsfolk assumes him to be a ghoul and shoots him dead. And then Ben’s body is burnt along with the rest of the ghouls. And then the movie ends. My knowledge of 1960’s horror is relatively limited but I can only imagine the reactions of audiences expecting at least some heroic feat in its final moments, but no. Everything ends in the same vein of the tragedy that it started as, but it’s perfect and so fitting. The score, so elusive and uncertain yet certain in its depressive, everything-isn’t-going-to-be-okay- tone, makes a final return before we fade to black for good. The fact that nobody survived is surprising to watch even today because our general knowledge of movies of this era ends with a surviving hero to root for. It’s the rare sort of moment that depresses you and transforms the entire movie in a single moment, in two ways in particular: whatever moral that you may have become attached to throughout the story, and the impression that the film leaves you with. What begins as an exciting, spooky horror journey ends unexpectedly in a very sobering and sombre, matter-of-fact way. After all, the odds were stacked against them this entire time, so what were you expecting?
Undeniably iconic and lots of fun despite its several crushing moments of ultimate failure and no hope, NOTLD deserves all the credit it’s earnt. Fantastically paced yet perhaps not quite long enough to flesh out the characters as much as we’d like to see them, it’s nonetheless undyingly (pun intended) entertaining as it is engaging. It offers what many horror films often seldom take the courage to do, which is to completely transform the message audiences think they are leaving with during its final moments. NOTLD is an exciting exploration into how our personal differences can contribute to and become just as, if not more perilous, than the greater threats of death in the face of the extraordinary.
Loved:
- Still feels current and progressive despite being decades old
- Unpredictable and exciting
- The entire product is cohesive; the few set-backs that are there fail to hinder other elements of the film
Didn’t Love So Much:
- Some characters could do with a little more development/screen time
filmmish 