Movie Reviews
Of all of the horror film directors of the past fifty years who have scared us to death or made us sick to our stomach, George A. Romero has done both the best, while making us think harder than any of them. His creepy “Night of the Living Dead” (which almost defined the word “spawn”) asked us to side with someone who was black and vigilant (something that wasn’t well-accepted at its time). The paranoia of that film paralleled that of the war raging in Vietnam and how it shook America down to its very core to the same degree that the Bay of Pigs had that same decade.
Next came the immortal “Dawn of the Dead” (no pun intended). Now that is what I call a horror film – combining graphic zombie violence with sly, allegorical satire. The film is a study on consumer America.
The 1980s brought about “Day of the Dead” – the most realistically gory of the three, and also a look into the minds of crazed military officers. The whole film is a psychological power struggle.
It has been twenty years since “Day”, and finally Romero has returned to the genre as triumphantly as a victorious knight returning from battle.
But Romero invented this subgenre. He is responsible for the great ones that came from it. And I agree with Simon Pegg – writer and star of “Shaun of the Dead” – when he said that what we consider to be zombies are Romero zombies.
In “Land of the Dead” we return to that classic style of horror filmmaking where the violence is sincere and the plot supports that violence in such a way that it makes the plot better. Romero has a way of using gore in such unexpected ways that we are, many times, taken aback when something is shown. We can thank his colleague Tom Savini for that. (For die-hard fans, Savini makes a quick cameo as the same character he played in the original “Dawn of the Dead”).
As the world is continuing to be devoured by the undead, a city resembling Pittsburgh has been gated in. What’s left of the human race is inside those gates, fortified and protected by what’s left of the military. On the streets are those low class people that represent poverty and misery. We don’t really identify with them because they’re nothing like us.
At the center of the city is a skyscraper called Fiddler’s Green – a housing complex, shopping mall, and normal way of life for the wealthy. Ironically, these are the ones we identify with, and yet we hate them for being so well-off while the rest of the city dies.
At the top of that building lays Kaufman (Dennis Hopper), the rich archetypal human-villain who oppresses his own kind and consequently gets his own poetic justice.
There are small squads of mercenaries who make rounds at nearby towns to pick up supplies and kill any zombies they encounter (which is done only by shooting in the head or decapitation). The leader of one such squad is Riley (Simon Baker). His “second-in-command” is Cholo (John Leguizamo), a hothead and a dreamer who envisions himself living the good life inside Fiddler’s Green, but is denied that luxury because of a long “waiting list”.
And then there is Bid Daddy, the title given affectionately to the “head” zombie. Romero always does this. He always has a tighter focus on a sole zombie. That’s one of his great logics; put the zombies in perspective by representing them with a leader. The zombies here are the allegory for starvation.
Big Daddy once filled up gas tanks. Now his routine has taken over, and every day he exits his gas station and fills up imaginary cars that no longer exist. He does, however, come in very handy for these flesh eaters, or “stenchers”, leading them to the city where all the rich people lay in wait behind the security of their glass windows and hundred dollar bills.
Here’s where Romero stands alone as an artist and as a director. He has the unique ability to produce funny and thought-provoking scenes that depict society gone down the drain. “Land’s” social commentary includes how the upper glass is bringing down America, how wealthy countries like ourselves stand by while others starve and rot, and how governments can become corrupt.
Romero is a visionary because he expects us to ask these questions and search for answers. He can marry thought with action, and that is something most horror directors dream of doing. Romero's return has proven that he is not a filmmaking zombie. For sheer entertainment, you'll find few better films this summer. *** ˝