Night of the Living Dead

What I always thought Night of the Living Dead does so well is show how each individual handles a siege situation, a crisis where they are captive inside a house, where conflicting emotions and dueling opinions (egos and temperament) cause anxiety, rage, and deteriorating psychological conditions. People bottled up in a farmhouse, voices of authority at odds over where to hold up as the undead outside try to get in.

They're coming to get you, Barbara.

In the early going, I must admit that I was kind of glad when Ben (Duane Jones) socks Barbara (Judith O’Dea), laying her out as to silence her raving about the brother out there in the cemetery she wants them to save. I remember as a kid when watching it always wondering why she becomes so useless and anal, but I guess when you see some sort of maniac kill your brother during a scuffle resulting in the back of a head smashing into a tombstone it could render you mute. I think we can empathize with Barbara, but, particularly, Ben who not only has to contend with her mental absence, but intruding outsiders having escaped temporarily from the zombie plague, holing up in the cellar. For years, my sister, brother, and I would often refer to Mr. Cooper as “Mr. Cooper in the Cellar”. This guy continues to insist that the cellar is the best, safest location while Ben wholeheartedly believes topside is. The cellar and topside are sections both men fight tooth and nail for supremacy over. Cooper and Ben are at each other’s throats right from the very beginning; oil and water.

It is really is amazing to me, after watching it, how everything seems to fall apart in a manner of ten or so minutes.  Judy (Judith Ridley) decides instead of waiting inside the house, allowing her boyfriend, Tom (Keith Wayne) and Ben to go load the truck with gas, she’ll burst outside, leaving the two men gobstruck with mortal terror, her face frozen in a state of “oh, shit!” When Ben shoots apart the lock holding the gas nozzle, Tom holds the handle down allowing gas to stream all over a lighted torch, setting the truck’s back tires and side of its bed on fire. Tom, stupidly, tries to drive the truck away, Judy’s shirt sleeve is stuck somewhere inside, and an explosion later sends Mr. Cooper into panic-mode. Ben flees back to the farmhouse, Cooper not allowing him back in. Cooper hides in the entrance to the cellar while Ben kicks the door in. Cooper, hesitant at first, eventually helps Ben hammer the door temporarily closed. Ben gets some payback by pummeling Cooper. It just gets worse. Cooper sets his sights on getting the gun Ben has in his possession. This will only increase an already intense situation as the undead human flesheaters start to form a mass that begins to break down the barriers Ben spent so much time building to keep the farmhouse shielded from them. Instead of helping Ben hold them off and try to keep the plankboards and wood defenses in place, Cooper takes his gun (dropped on the floor). This sets off a Ben so angry that once he regains control of the gun, he shoots Cooper in cold blood. And it just keeps getting worse. Cooper’s wife, Helen (Marilyn Eastman), frees herself from the zombies she attempts to help Ben contain, high-tailing it to the cellar, finding her daughter standing over her now-dead husband, eating from his body! Helen falls into a corner and stays there, frozen in horror, taking a spade from her undead daughter, just endless stabbing over and over.

Romero and company use bargain-basement music but it works so well at overlaying the tension, emphasizing the madness (especially “feeding time”) of it all, and punctuating the horror of the situation. Romero, to me, is a master of composing shots of his actors, particularly odd-angle close-ups (notice how Barbara falls against the aforementioned gas pump early in the film or Bill Hinzman’s opening zombie in the cemetery getting a gander at a potential feast), and when the power goes out in the farmhouse, and it’s all shadowy dark, with just what is peering in through the openings of the windows and doors to light those inside.

Karl Hardman is definitively the antagonist’s antagonist. This guy “gums up the works” (sorry, while writing this, I was in the middle of The Maltese Falcon) damn near from the moment he appears on screen, always bitching and complaining , barking and ordering. He is the grump that has nothing productive or contributive for the situation, just offering his own advice and expecting everyone else to agree. Mr. Cooper in the Cellar. What a character.

That dynamic—how these people co-exist and get along—is part of why I think Night of the Living Dead has remained such a compelling film, a classic so revered and held in such high regard by not only us horror fans but by critics as well. How different personalities handle their crisis, how impulsiveness in part of some of the characters and their sometimes hasty, rash decisions can cripple an uneasy but somewhat stable climate of control, and the inability to put aside whatever prejudices or ill will that might root and harvest themselves inside “those in charge”: this all contributes to the demise of the congregated party that harbor inside the farmhouse refuge.

This is the dvd edition I own and prefer.

Like the seemingly inconsequential bald zombie for Dawn, this girl has become the iconic symbol of Night

The owner of the film's main setting, a little worse for wear.

I will refrain from commenting on the whole controversy (at that time) of a black man being the leader, taking command, and ultimately “winding up on the fire”. It has been analyzed to death, and I see nothing left I can add, offer, or contribute to the decision of Romero and company to cast Duane Jones in the lead role. I like him, believe he’s trying his best to keep himself and others alive as best as he can, and his downfall derives from a number of considerable factors that multiply against him. He’s that fallen hero up against the odds that simply outweigh him. That’s how I feel about the character Ben in a nutshell.

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While the zombies in Romero’s films were to become more elaborately designed and intricately detailed, I really like the undead of Night of the Dead. I think the Black & White photography, the way the night really feels apocalyptic, does enhance the undead, giving them an eerie quality, particularly when they creepily ascend to the farmhouse, their number starting to grow. The most infamous scene—along with the ending, that is—has the undead gobbling organs and flesh picked from the carcasses and body parts of poor Tom and Judy, roasted after blowing up in the truck. The way they eat, I think, really brings chills to the bones because that hand being eaten from belonged to a living, breathing woman who had plans for tomorrow. This movie, like Blood Feast, changed horror for good. There would be no turning back. Because it is all done so matter-of-fact, a bit unsettling considering the food source, there’s a power about it all. You take into account this grisly display is shot with such beautiful lighting, framed so artistically, accompanied by music that generates this unnerving feeling because of what is taking place, how it is all so unreal, fantastic, bizarre.

Funny, I was thinking back to the first time I ever watched Night of the Living Dead, and I think it was actually the color version. Oh, I guess it was some rather unflattering recording on a VHS tape that had lines and marks, wear and tear. It was eye-opening and fun, but Dawn was responsible for the excitement of seeing Night for the first time. When I knew my uncle had a copy, I pleaded with him to let me borrow it. He conceded, and the fan I am today for Night was born. We all have that first time we are introduced to Night, and many of us remember when it was, where we were and how old we were. Then, over and over, we return, to watch Night all over again. It truly does stand the test of time. How many marathons and late night chiller theatres have featured Night in their line-up? So many. When it was playing in the background during Halloween II, I knew I would be returning to it again relatively soon. I was thinking about it yesterday, decided to watch most of it last night, and finished it this afternoon. I just don’t feel I can do it the justice it deserves.

When you listen to the dialogue and get an idea of how these characters got to the farmhouse, the script establishes how fate can deal a really poor hand to certain people. Whether going to the local watering hole for a swim, traveling through with the family, or visiting a cemetery for your mother to put flowers on the grave of your father many miles from home, each character would be visited upon by a harsh surreality beyond what the mind could fathom. I think because the characters seem so ordinary and Midwestern, just average folk going about their daily lives, thrust into a nightmare, Night of the Living Dead struck a chord. It still does.

What I really liked in this particular viewing was the way the radio and televised broadcasts are depended upon by the characters and, also, used as background noise. Notice what the radio does during a sequence where Ben is finding boards and doors to use: it communicates to us what it is currently happening (also explaining further the epidemic, what they are, possible reasons for their existence (Venus probe radiation brought back from space?), and how to kill and dispose of them) and also provides background noise that holds our attention while he’s performing laborious, mundane tasks, all this as Barbara is transfixed with an embroidered cloth on the couch her butt stays firmly planted on for most of the film. 

Speaking of Barbara, I was musing to myself how little she’s worth to the remainder of the movie despite the initial focus on her character at the beginning. She freaks out about her brother then slips into near catatonia with Ben struggling to get through to her. She almost becomes invisible at times. She’s funny to me. Her worth diminishes as the film reaches its conclusion but her fate has always left me unsettled, I must admit because you can pretty much use your imagination regarding what ultimately happens to her. Think of the biker in Dawn who gets his stomach opened and guts pulled out, eaten with verve those zombies are known for, and Barbara’s fate would probably be similar. Anytime you see a live human pulled into a group of the undead until her figure becomes lost amongst the crowd, it does give me that sinking feeling, that gulp.