Martin more than deserves its reputation as the best of George Romero’s ‘non-Dead’ movies. Stylish, intelligent and deeply troubling in its implications, it’s impossible to watch without detecting Romero’s hand at the wheel. He sets about deconstructing the myths of vampirism much more overtly than in his subtle analysis of zombies and the undead, but the skill with which Romero crafts the tale leads the viewer very quickly into a minefield of moral confusion and offers few pointers as to who is right and who is wrong.
This is a very difficult thing to do when the first thing we see the Martin do is brutally murder an innocent young woman. He makes no bones about the fact that he is a dangerous killer who chooses his victims with a disconcerting randomness. Martin’s inner turmoil is beautifully rendered in the dream scenes, where we see him fulfilling his vampiric fantasies. When contrasted with the gritty and desolate reality of his life in a declining Pittsburgh the clash between his world and his fantasies become even more apparent, and it is easy to feel sympathy with him for seeking refuge in the latter. This is especially so when we are shown his childhood trauma of being branded a vampire by his Eastern European family, and relive the attempts to purge him of his ‘evil’.
What really pushes the film along is the struggle between Martin and his uncle, Tata Cuda. Again it is difficult to resent Cuda’s obsession with the vampire myth that surrounds his family (product of the ‘old country’) even though this has at the very least been ineffective in helping his troubled nephew and has probably exacerbated the situation. Once the set-piece concepts have been brushed aside (with humour when Martin eats the garlic his uncle has nailed to the bedroom door and spits it out at him) Cuda comes to represent organised religion – and conventional morality on a wider level – and its utter futility in dealing with the situation. From walking at a distance ahead of his family right through to an exorcism, Cuda wants to both hide his family’s shame and try and remedy it. His – and the world he represents – inability to do either of these is effectively framed in the context of declining working class suburb of Pittsburgh, where human dignity has been eroded by the fight for survival.
There is an ageless quality about the world that Romero creates, with the economic slump of the late 1970s imposing a time warp effect on a community and way of life that is dying on its feet. This helps add to the confusion of what exactly is wrong with Martin, with the Nosferatu accusations becoming more plausible in the eerie and unfamiliar world we’re confronted with. As ever, Romero manages his players brilliantly and the largely unknown cast turn in flawless performances Thus, the film is a depressing one as you come to care for all of the characters and know that none of them will have a happy ending. Romero offers us a no-holes barred look at the dark side of human nature on every level which is gripping and disheartening and, ultimately, provocatively sensational.