Dawn of the Dead

by | Dec 30, 2014 | The Horror Review News | 0 comments

Eleven years after giving the world his groundbreaking vision of nihilism, Night of the Living Dead, George Romero defied the horror sequel slump and created a biting social allegory predicting the blight of mass consumerism upon American culture with Dawn of the Dead. The film stands as a discredit to academic nay Sayers who readily renounce the genre wholeheartedly in that Dawn of the Dead is as well constructed and substantive as many of the more heralded works of cinema. In short, the film, though filled with gore and vicious characters, “[ . . . ] is not depraved, although some reviews have seen it that way. It is about depravity” so says Roger Ebert, who readily declares Romero’s work to be one of the greatest horror films ever made. Still yet, as arguably one of the greatest apocalypses set to film, Dawn of the Dead, in its guerilla mode, allows form to follow function as it reflects the manner, mode, and sentiment of the times in which it was made.

Mass panic ensues as a zombie epidemic rages nationwide as a helicopter pilot, Stephen (David Emge), two S.W.A.T. team members, Peter (Ken Foree) and Roger (Scott Reiniger), and a news reporter, Francine (Gaylen Ross), find refuge in an abandoned shopping mall. Shortly after creating a makeshift utopia, a motorcycle gang disrupts the group’s safe hold, resulting in chaos for both factions.

The concepts and ideas contained in Romero’s worthy follow-up to his masterpiece is multifaceted to say the least. When we sit down to a horror film, we expect death, and when settling into zombie cinema, we anticipate zombie-sponsored demises. However, one of the primary motifs of the work is revealed shortly after the film opens with a death, not at the hands (er, mouth) of a zombie, but rather in a sequence involving human-on-human violence. As a S.W.A.T. team surrounds a housing project, the gang leader, Martinez (John Amplas)–who is holed up inside the building–bursts out, shooting a rookie task member named Roy (Rod Stouffer) squarely in the forehead. As we will come to see, the ultimate threat to humanity is not the zombies en masse, but rather Man’s inhumanity towards Man as our refugees, seemingly secure in their makeshift abode–the local mall–have their temporary Eden disrupted by a motorcycle gang who breaks into the compound, thus destroying the barriers which were keeping the undead at bay outside the shopping center’s doors, thus placing–not only the humans inside at risk–but also usurping the would-be security of those entering the building. The most poignant commentary upon this absurdity is witnessed when Peter states, “Yeah, well it wasn’t one of those things that nearly blew me away,” highlighting the irony that Stephen almost inadvertently shot him during their last refueling effort atop Doctor Millard Rausch (Richard France) declaring, “There have been reports of these creatures using tools. But even these are the most basic, the use of tools as bludgeons and so forth. I might point out that even animals have been known to adopt the use of tools in this manner. These creatures are nothing but pure, motorized instinct.” Rausch’s mention of “these creatures” is intentionally ambiguous in that the leader of the motorcycle gang, Blade (Tom Savini), is later seen brandishing, not a gun, but a machete, a simple tool, which he uses in order to appease his instinctual need for (gratuitous) possession, placing his life at risk as a consequence, oftentimes bypassing the necessities for survival in the process.

The most potent aspect of Romero’s work is his prophetic criticism of consumerism as the apocalyptic metaphor for the downfall of society symbolized, in part, by the somnambulistic meandering of the undead throughout the mall. (Note: The strip mall proper was new to the culture during the time of the filming, thus the director defining the social anomaly when the characters first encounter the multiplex.) However, the irony stands in Fran’s sentiment, “You’re hypnotized by this place. All of you. It’s so bright and neatly wrapped. You don’t see it’s a prison too,” which is aptly represented in Peter and Roger risking their lives in order to (unnecessarily) enter the mall, the contents of which are now free to them as their allure omnipotently draws the characters in. This notion of the diminution of humanity’s integrity and livelihood due to one’s desire for materialistic possession on a mass scale is further denoted via a zombie hiding amid a gaggle of mannequins; Peter stating, “Wait a minute man, let’s just get the stuff we need. I’ll get a television and a radio” (even though these would provide valuable news reports, the objects are nonetheless symbols of gratuitous consumption); the undead’s hue commenting the pastels of the storefronts; both human factions futility stealing money and jewelry, i.e. John Barnes’s Dr. Heidegger’s Experiment (satirized by a zombie seen sitting in a wishing well fondling the discarded pennies); and Fran’s pondering, “What are they [the zombies] doing? Why do they come here?” to which Stephen replies, “Some kind of instinct. Memory of what they used to do. This was an important place in their lives.” Ingeniously, zombism is one of the more staunch metaphors for the consequences of America’s capitalistic cravings, in that cannibalism serves as a symbol for society preying upon and feeding off of itself (which becomes exacerbated once the philosophy of Marxism is considered as a common reading for zombie hordes). Ironically, Peter is seen thumbing through designer suits before appearing in a fur coat, both of which are poor selections in regards to freedom of movement when death is undulating mere inches away. Obviously, Romero is highlighting the overriding predominance of ego which, arguably, may well be provoked due to the futility of the nihilistic circumstances in which the characters have found themselves. (The theme of ego is issued boldface in the television station, WGON, attempting to fill its “obligation” to its viewers at the employees’ personal risk. The only manner to justify this non sequitur is that those in the newsroom, just as one who insists that another read a book though the advisee has nothing to gain from the action, will receive the credit when the latter party acknowledges the wise judgment of the former.) Regardless, the climax of this social dilemma is heralded forth when Fran is forced to flee the mall and Peter proposes that he must stay behind, unable to leave his materialistic godsend.

Interestingly, the theme of imperialism is cast in the guise of a scathing, mocking Western motif as our four central characters chart seemingly unclaimed land even though another race which–in their eyes–is inferior, inhabits the territory, before securing their desired province by way of killing those in immediate proximity and fortifying the area, thus keeping other undesirables from entering. This idea is reinforced by the Western soundtrack, which is sardonically playing over the mall’s PA during this sequence, as well as the letters “U” and “S” visible in the background atop the presence of a gun store (an unlikely place for such a business), all before the emergence of a gang riding in on mechanical horses, complete with its leader carrying a modern day tomahawk, i.e. a machete. Lastly, echoing another Judgment Day epic, Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove, the gang is seen taking the time to mock the undead plague’s weak efforts to retain their territory as the former engages in a one-way pie fight with their antagonists.

The downtrodden mayhem and weight of the apocalyptic situation is buffered by the black humor within the film, which is never overt and outright laughable, but rather is caustically alarming. For example, the open of a new day after the motorcycle gang has fled, leaving the doors askew, brings in droves of the undead to the mall, à la Thanksgiving weekend (the film was shot during the Christmas season). As the group flies over the landscape in a helicopter as they watch a renegade community join efforts with the National Guard in order to battle the undead, Stephen notes, “We’re still pretty close to Johnstown,” which is only a phonetic beat away from Jonestown, the site of another post-apocalyptic epidemic. Mockingly, after a gang member is torn from a blood pressure station by a zombie collective, leaving his arm in the tourniquet, the display panel announces, “Your Blood Pressure is Over.”

Yet, the film is brought forth into a stunningly visceral clarity, epitomized by a quick shot of a rolling police siren spotted by morning dew as the task force attempts to clear the countryside of the plight. The futility of the situation is relentlessly carried by the group all-to-readily easing into the comforts of the mall in the wake of the fact that the provisions afforded them, however plentiful at the offset, are nonetheless blaringly limited. The Freudian theme of deception in order to maintain one’s sanity is exemplified by the group settling down to candle-lit dinners as they attempt to clasp onto the last bastions of humanity which, for all they know, they might well be the last remnants of. The existential desperation felt by the characters becomes wrenching, but is almost unbearable once the viewer realizes that Peter’s inquiry upon whether or not Stephen is considering aborting his unborn child (shared with Fran) is not crass but rather a meditative investigation on the former’s behalf as he subtlety searches for validation in the midst of absurdity. This absurdity is highlighted in a Beckettian resolution in which Peter asks Fran, “How much fuel have we got?” before resigning himself to sighing “Alright” to her response of “Not much.” Arguably, the less overt declarations upon the epidemic speak more vociferously and are felt by the levity exhibited by those involved. For instance, when the characters have to distract the undead in order to travel from one end of a store to another, they taunt the zombies with sardonic quips when mere yelling would suffice. Secondly, Roger posits his own commercial appeal when offering Peter a wide array of screwdrivers in which to remove a vent cover (to say nothing of the linguistic influence of everyday dialogue here). Next, Stephen and Peter opt to follow social protocol and weave and bob through the roped sections of the bank (as opposed to simply hurdling them). Finally, as Peter and Roger transport tractor trailers to the front of the store in order to barricade the building, they engage in a mocking conversation in regards to the latter’s employment with the agency as the undead claw and scratch at the cabs.

The film is an irrefutable masterpiece, but not without its own set of problems. The acting is weak in regards to Romero’s direction of the undead as we watch a handful of recently bludgeoned and shot zombies ease themselves unto the floor while one stutter steps, attempting to maintain his balance before conceding to collapse. The editing, done by Romero, is uneven, especially during sequences involving quick cuts. Also, there are several instances of blaring continuity problems, most notable of which is the blood seen on Roger’s face after a zombie’s remains have splattered upon him, which disappear briefly before reappearing conspicuously a cut later.

George Romero’s more than worthy successor to his genre-defining effort, Night of the Living Dead, not only posits a continuation of the dilemmas within society, but expounds upon those in his original while introducing new concerns. We watch as another African American lead navigates through the savagery of modern society as children continue to feed upon adults (twice as much in Romero’s follow up), while the character of Fran, unlike her comatose counterpart in Night of the Living Dead, Barbara, defines genre expectations as the final female as she, while pregnant nonetheless, refuses to succumb to uttering a single scream while demanding to be taught to fly the helicopter in order to have a fallback lest something happens to the group’s sole pilot. Unlike so many placid horror films, the characters are well developed while the narrative forbids the viewer to easily guess who will yield to the undead’s altruistic prowess. Though justifiably convoluted, the underlining question which the film poses is the existential concern put simply as, “What’s the point? Is there a point?” In Night of the Living Dead, the circumstances were too recent for the characters to do anything but instinctively react as they fought for their own survival. However, as time has progressed and characters are allowed to stabilize their situation, they are permitted to gain a broader perspective over their newfound predicament. Of course, the lethargy involved in the characters’ inability to pass judgment upon this underlying motive for action is due to the haze of consumerism, Man’s inhumanity toward Man, and American empiricism propelled by capitalistic consumerism. What I find most interesting is the alternate ending, in which Peter and Fran both commit suicide, which would concur with the resolution of the film’s precursor while permitting the director to allow hope at the close of his trilogy.

-Egregious Gurnow

Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *