George A Romero

A New Yorker by birth (4th February 1940 if you were thinking of sending him a card) George Romero has made Pittsburgh his spiritual and artistic home. It was there that he attended the renowned Carnegie Mellon Institute, and he found work in the city after graduation turning out industrial films, commercials and short films with his first production company-The Latent Image. This was never enough to satisfy someone who’d been making films on an old 8mm since the age of 14 though, and in the late 1960s he got together with a group of friends and formed Image Ten Productions, one of many small-scale independent film companies that was springing up across America at the time.

Unlike the others though Romero and John A. Russo (an Image Ten co-founder) already had the screenplay written for a film which would revolutionise the genre and earn its Director / Screenwriter / Story Author / Cinematographer / Editor a place in movie history-Night of the Living Dead. Made for little more than $100,000, Night of the Living Dead barely made back its production costs on its initial release in 1968. A vocal campaign by Reader’s Digest to ban the film on account of its violence and gore quickly roused interest though, and when it was re-released in 1969 it was received affectionately by the general public and genre devotees alike. Romero’s thorough deconstruction of myths and legends through a contemporary, agnostic outlook-coupled with a natural storyteller’s flair for spinning a good yarn-earned him legions of fans and Night of the Living Dead brought in $12million over the next decade alone.

The success of Night brought with it the inevitable Hollywood offers but Romero chose to stay in Pittsburgh and produced films independently throughout the 1970s, none of which were received with the same popular acclaim as his seminal work. In The Crazies (1973, and Romero’s son’s favourite) he combined Living Dead–style paranoia with something close to a conventional ‘shoot ‘em up’, whilst Martin (1978, often considered his finest ‘non-Dead’ offering) was his first-and not last, if rumours are to be believed-attempt at a vampire film. 1978 also saw the release of the long-awaited follow-up to Night of the Living Dead; Dawn of the Dead. On familiar ground, Romero returned to his most accessible social critique and turned out a film which was more than the equal of its predecessor.

The fans ebbed and flowed through the early 1980s, and The Creepshow (1982) marked Romero’s first collaboration with horror writer Stephen King. Both were disappointed with the poor reception it received as both believed horror anthologies were excellent formats for film production, and Romero has not ruled out returning to the series if Creepshow 3 is ever touted (Creepshow 2 was released in 1987 and was again largely passed over by the public). His first ‘solo’ release of the decade-1981’s Knightriders-marked an amusing and effective change of pace from his usual filmmaking and provided an early screen appearance from his long-time associate Tom Savini (oh, and Ed Harris). 1985 saw the release of the third instalment of Romero’s Dead series, Day of the Dead. Though series devotees welcomed it eagerly even they acknowledged that it was lacking when compared to its forerunners, and the film had the least impact of the trilogy.

The 1990s opened with Romero’s long-time stunt man, make-up artist and generally insane companion Tom Savini remaking Night of the Living Dead. It was an interesting effort and served to reawaken interest in the original somewhat, and was much more faithful Romero’s work than the Dawn of the Dead remake (2004). The year after he had a cameo in Silence of the Lambs as an FBI agent, extending his acting portfolio beyond his fleeting appearances in the Dead trilogy. Bruiser (2000) was his next major release and passed over the heads of critics and the general public alike, despite being an adept look alienation and its destructiveness (Romero had the Columbine massacre in mind when making it) and perhaps his most original work since Martin. Tantalisingly, he was almost involved in production of The Mummy, the 1999 big-budget homage to the Karloff original. The long awaited fourth instalment of the Dead trilogy-Land of the Dead-is soon to be released in Britain and is, by all accounts, classic Romero. Until we can say a little more about it console yourself in the knowledge that he’s got a screenplay called Diamond Dead that is just waiting for financial backers and space in the time table, and also a script about a rogue elephant.

George Romero filmography

2005 Land of the Dead (D, Sc)
2004 Dawn of the Dead (S)
2000 Bruiser (D, S)
1991 The Silence of the Lambs (A)
1991 The Dark Half (S)
1990 Tales from the Darkside: The Movie (S)
1990 Two Evil Eyes (aka Due Occhi Diabolic) (D, S)
1990 Night of the Living Dead (S, Ex)
1988 Monkey Shines (aka An Experiment in Terror; An Experiment in Fear) (D, S)
1987 Creepshow 2 (S)
1985 Day of the Dead (D, S, A)
1982 Creepshow (D, E)
1981 Knightriders (D, S, E)
1978 Dawn of the Dead (aka Zombi) (D, S, A, E)
1978 Martin (D, A, S, E)
1973 Season of the Witch (aka Hungry Wives; Jack’s Wife) (D, C, E, Sc)
1973 The Crazies (D, S, E)
1972 There’s Always Vanilla (D, C, E)
1968 Night of the Living Dead (aka Night of the Flesh Eaters) (D, S, A, C, E, Sc)

D: Director, S: Story Author, A: Actor, C: Cinematographer, E: Editor, Sc: Screenwriter, Ex: Executive Producer

Carl says…

It goes without saying that George A. Romero stands as one of the titans of the horror world and that his Dead series continues to inform other directors and stands as the unrivalled gold standard of the zombie sub-genre. His works have been analysed to bits and deconstructed to determine their deep-seated meanings and insightful lessons. The big man himself has said, ‘Even in something like Night of the Living Dead, where there is no explanation, they’ll find their own reasons for the horror, and write about your genius in dreaming it up’. False modesty perhaps, but I think that this self-analysis runs a little deeper and shines a more useful light onto Romero’s artistic vision than the various blasé titles which have been heaped on him in the past (usually permutations of King of Zombie Films) – namely that he doesn’t necessarily regard himself, or his seminal works, as standard works of horror.

Romero’s works all run much deeper than most ‘typical’ horror films without ever drifting into the abstract and ludicrous, hence his wide appeal amongst general cinema goers and more dedicated followers of the genre. One crucial reason for this is that he never loses sight of the human aspect of his stories; in fact, this always remain central. In the Dead series, the discord and tension between the human players forms the basis of what follows with the zombies, and in all three it is the fighting between the living which allows the dead to thrive (think Harry and Ben in Night through to the military/civilian divide in Day). The zombies are plot catalysts rather than key players and are in many ways they’re less frightening than the raiders in Dawn or Day’s psychopathic Captain Rhodes. The Crazies posits rednecks as the most disturbing force, whilst Martin has to deal with the psychological possibility that he’s a vampire rather than the consequences of him actually being one. Romero’s characters are given real depth, and are rarely screen padding which means that you care about them and want them to survive the ordeals they face.

This humanity is further served by the subtle environments that Romero constructs for his characters, all cleverly crafted to enhance the story as a stage not only of terror but substance too. The conversion of a family home into a redoubt in Night is full of touching little moments that say more than lengthy scripts ever could. When Barbara finds the music box and recoils when it springs into action, it cuts deeply; we can feel her agony at knowing that a symbol of her childhood innocence and safety is a thousand miles removed from the present moment, with zombies trying to smash their way to her. Or when Ben rips the place apart to find wood for the windows, trampling underfoot the treasured possessions of the people who once lived there, now utterly redundant in the new world order. Even Day, Romero’s less respected third offering, has more mood and atmosphere than many standard horror films put together. You sympathise with Henry Creedlow’s plight in Bruiser which is why his sudden violent eruption excites mixed feelings.

We must be careful not to get too caught up in the deeper meanings of Romero’s movies and remember that they are also astonishingly good stories. His work in bringing Stephen King’s stories to the screen in the Creepshow movies is unfairly maligned and will hopefully not prevent him from returning to the anthology format. Of course, the Dead series will always be his Magnum Opus, and rightly so. Each of the series has a slightly different story but each is unique and valuable in its own special way. What unites them is the bitter pessimism of what the future holds and a vicious take on the human condition. There is no hope of salvation, no spell or silver bullet or antidote to destroy his creation as ‘they’re us’.

He has always signalled his desire to make non-horror films but he also recognises the potency of the genre in communicating effectively with an audience. You have to respect a guy who has worked away consistently for the last 35 or so years at what he wants to do whilst resisting the inevitable offers to succumb to the ‘Hollywood’ machine. That’s not to say he’s a movie snob – he isn’t – but he is clearly principled enough to make the movies that he wants to make, whether they’re commercially successful or not (they usually are, of course). The world of the independent filmmaker is under increasing pressure but some do manage to make their mark. (Blair Witch being one he notes for its efforts). In many ways they have George A. Romero to thank for that, for he is truly proof that an extremely talented man with a good story and enough determination can change film history.

Matt says…

Dawn of the Dead is a pretty strong contender for my favourite film of all time, a movie made even more epochal by the fact that it was also the first film to really switch me onto horror movies. I caught it on BBC2 at around 2am, and found it absolutely terrifying – which is odd for two reasons. Firstly, the zombies are all wearing blue face paint, which does seem a little cheap. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, it’s a satire on consumerism whose central image is a shopping mall – a new and uncommon building for viewers at the time, but part and parcel of modern life for my generation. When our four heroes first arrive in the mall, it’s alien and threatening (when the helicopter first passes over it, they don’t know what it is) and it’s only when they’ve looted Penneys for supplies that they realise that it could potentially provide all they need to live out their days (something the addicted zombie ‘shoppers’ have subconsciously realised, apparently). Fast forward to the 2004 remake, and heading to the mall is the first instinct of a fair few people. For today’s viewers, the mall is familiar – perhaps over familiar – and yet in Romero’s hands, it still carries an eeriness. Why?

As Carl’s already said, Romero’s triumph is his ability to hold onto the human story at the heart of his movies. Everything else is (deeply entertaining) window dressing – and this includes the zombies and the mall. Much has been written about the satirical intent of the film, but to my mind this is often over-analysed; it doesn’t really extend to much more than comical images of zombies tripping about to bland lift muzak and the occasional shade of greed from our heroes. More important is the shifting dynamic between the four characters, and their fatally jealous posessiveness of their new-found hideout. In this light, the mall is actually a bigger version of the house in Night of the Living Dead – the familiar made threatening, the everyday under siege. 1977 audiences almost certainly wouldn’t have seen it that way; 2005 audiences do. I’m not saying Romero future-proofs his films, but each installment of the Dead trilogy hits upon a certain timeless truth about the way we are and why we do what we do, in a way that changes our relationship with these films as time goes on. There’s nothing particularly 1977 about Dawn of the Dead; one suspects that the film has always felt very ‘now’, and in a genre perhaps more prone than most to cheap ‘state of the nation’ allegories, that’s not to be sniffed at.

Black Lagoon key film

Despite the fact that we both prefer Dawn of the Dead, we’re going to have to go with Night of the Living Dead, simply because it would be perverse not to. It’s still an astonishing piece of work, setting a whole stadium’s worth of benchmarks. There’s no excuse not to have seen this one really, but the uninitiated can download it for free here.